Don't Keep Your Distance (Post-Sonic X Fic)
by Plastic Raven
Summary: Paint, the child of Tails and Cosmo born from a seed that planted itself on an ideal hilltop, has a tough life; she's been maligned by her village not only for her incompetence and troublemaking, but for being a repulsive mutt. But is this really all that's going on? With her best friend Arrowhead the Toad, Paint sets off to find her father and the truth. From the Sega Forums!
1. Chapter 1

"You want to stay my friend, right? Hop up yourself!"

"Come... come on. I... it's steep, alright? I don't know why I agreed to this..."

Paint reached a helpful hand down to pull her friend up. She really did appreciate Arrowhead having stuck with her through the years, as her unusual combination of plant and animal traits wasn't conducive to her being even accepted as a harmless creature, much less well-liked. The toad was incompetent sometimes, and Paint felt she owed him to help him out at every turn, though she took similarly frequent opportunities to give him a bit of ribbing.

"Thanks," he wheezed. "I've had enough of those ledges."

"It's okay; we're almost at the top of the volcano," said Paint. "Then we won't be seeing any more of those. Except, you know, the hole, haha! Scary, huh?"

Arrowhead sighed, more than a hint of anxiety in his little toad voice. "Don't remind me. I mean, I want to see it too, but..."

"Then it's worth it! Onward we plod, I say! A noble quest for a noble pair of explorers! Paint, the visionary, with plant-like serenity to complement her foxy wits! And her trustworthy sidekick she couldn't do the job without..."

"I hate this part," muttered Arrowhead.

"Arrowhead the Toad! There's nothing they can't accomplish together: no hill they can't climb, no river they can't traverse, no pretentious existential debate they can't circumlocute their way out of!"

Arrowhead found this routine, which Paint played up on occasion, to be pretentious itself, and he wasn't all that confident in his abilities. Perhaps she was the smart one - she was certainly stronger and faster than him to boot. He knew, though, that it was just a sign of her genuinely liking him and the spirit of adventuring, and for that much he was wont to tolerate her silliness.

He wondered from time to time, this time being included, whether she harbored any buried romantic feelings for him. He wasn't sure he felt that way about her, at least not yet, but he would relish the welcome boost in self-confidence by having someone else like him as more than a pal. Actually, she was more like a sister to him - and that worked fine, for the time being. Still, as a question easy to spend far too much time musing over, it made its way into his head on occasion.

"Arrowhead, look! We're here!"

He peered his large eyes up from the ground; he'd lost attention to their physical surroundings in his reverie. He quickly, however, directed his eyes back downward, and found himself gazing into the mouth of the volcano. And the verdict was... that he was underwhelmed.

Her opinion echoed his. "Aww, it's just a bunch of rocks! Far-down rocks, but rocks! No majestic, long-lost civilizations, hidden away at the fault of their own inability to develop rock-climbing apparatuses - not even any totally awesome lava!"

He couldn't find himself disappointed, though. He did enjoy their time together, and she seemed to feel likewise.

Like Arrowhead's irritation at Paint's dramatic routine, the rocks making up the ground at the volcano's edge began to crumble. They were in deep trouble and would be in deep lava if they didn't run as fast as possible: they were facing an eruption. He knew all about these.

"Arrow, RUN!" She grabbed his hand and yanked him on the first giant and frenzied steps of a trek down the volcano. They might still be too late, but they could try to escape the imminent explosion of red-hot, molten minerals.

Toads aren't as well-suited for running as foxes are, so he did have some trouble with the activity. Suddenly, his hand left hers immediately as the first terrifying orange droplets began to rain down. He tumbled off to the side and was getting up, but would not be able to catch up to her. This was bad. The droplets were sparse, but get hit by one and you're done for.

Paint set aside her fear and sprinted back to retrieve her best friend. She succeeded and, to make the journey down plain easier, picked him up.

"Thanks, Paint. I... I'm sorry to do this to you."

"Don't worry about it," she replied with an uncharacteristic lack of emotion. Their job now was to get themselves to safety.

The droplets of death were coming down harder, and in greater numbers, now. She panicked. What could they hide under to wait the storm out? There were some trees around, but those wouldn't reliably protect them. They couldn't dig a hole in time, or deep enough, for it to matter.

Coming to a fairly short, but existing, cliff, Paint made the snap-judgment that they had no choice but to jump. It would take them the most quickly away from the line of fire.

"Arrow, forgive me for the problem I'm about to bring to you."

"What?"

She leapt. She clutched him tightly, not about to let him get injured because of her decision. Getting a quick glance at his face, Arrow gathered that he wanted to scream but either trusted her enough or was just resigned to his bitter end.

Before either one could think about it any longer, they hit the grass below. No injuries were apparent, so they kept on in a mixture of running and rolling down the remainder of the hill, whose angle had a sine value a little higher than their comfort values. They did, however, notice that they had by that point escaped the radius of the volcano's reach, the eruption seemed to be over anyway, and they weren't in the likely path of any impending lava flows.

By this point, Paint hadn't been carrying Arrowhead for a fair bit. They took the welcome chance to stop and catch their breaths. Paint did, anyway; Arrowhead had one more remark to make.

"Paint?"

"Yeah?"

"Leave the 'no hill they can't climb' part out of your spiel next time, okay?"

She chuckled, appreciating her neurotic friend keeping his composure to some degree. With that, the plant-fox and toad rekindled their paces down the mountain. No more conversation would happen, but somehow they were fine with that.


	2. Chapter 2

While the two walked for a few more miles in silence, Paint's guilt over dragging Arrowhead within an airborne chunk of rock of his life began to gnaw at her ability to stay mum. She didn't deserve a friend she could whisk away on frivolous journeys all the time that weren't even his choice of escapades. She was adventurous and that was fine, but she could keep that to herself, or at least to a narrower radius of influence, right? The more sensible Arrowhead didn't need that. She was, for the most part, happy to have a friend like him, but beneath this, as was surfacing now, she felt that she didn't deserve him. He was surely smarter than her, both in book-learning and in prudent decision-making.

There was a question she had had buried inside the smothering soil of her head for a long time, and that he perhaps asked himself as well, but she felt it was time to unearth it whether he was ready or not. It would be for the best.

"Arrow?" she ventured with an unsettling meekness in her voice.

He seemed surprised at the difference in tone from her normally confident self. "What is it?"

"Why have you stuck with me all these years?" she asked.

He hadn't been prepared for that. Toad eyes aren't good at hiding their gaze, but he tried his best to divert it from meeting hers. It was a sensitive question indeed; it deserved a careful response with no betrayals of emotion.

"You... you don't get enough respect," he calmly replied.

Respect? What did she ever do to earn it? For her whole life, she'd been nothing but a weed and a bothersome pest, annoying everyone who was generous enough to let her into their life. Earned respect could come from the likes of saving the village from one of Dr. Eggman's robots or, over several decades, contributing more than one's share to the community, as other villagers had done - not from being so disorganized and unrealistically idealistic that hardly anyone sticks around to offer _dis_respect.

"But... but I don't-" she stammered.

"And you're pretty."

The silence grew, at once, deader than ever.

Arrow was sorry then that he was an amphibian and not a turtle or shelled mollusk or crustacean, as he wanted more to escape into a shell after blurting something like that out than he could ever remember being. Had he even meant it? He didn't... fancy her in that way, or at least he couldn't clearly say that he did. But she definitely had a certain allure. It was a strange one, to be sure - her leaflike tufts of green, yellow, and orange were like nothing else he'd ever seen, to say nothing of her short twin tails and oddly red-orange ears. But that was part of the charm, indeed. If he grew to like anyone anytime soon, she would be... high up his list. He felt comfortable with himself leaving it at that.

Her face was bright red; it was nice that she too was turned away from him as they kept their pace back home. That... was nice of him, definitely. But she wouldn't fall for his kindness - in fact, it was that kind of naivete that made it so painful whenever she was mocked for looking like a demon, a scarecrow, a work of terrible art that no one would pay for. She was almost angry at him for trying to get her hopes up, but she knew that he had just reasoned it out that that was what she needed at the moment. And maybe that much could be enough.

It was time to spit out a reply and never look back from it.

"I appreciate it and you're cute too."

Well, that had happened. What had she meant by it? The wonder caused her revulsion - coming up with that might involve more looking back than she was ready for. If he pressed the issue, she would do her best to be as a good a friend as she could, but otherwise she was more than happy to leave it alone.

Thankfully, the issue's momentary significance was about to vanish.

"Hey, what's that?" Arrowhead wondered aloud. "It looks metallic."

The two ran up to the object Arrowhead had spotted lying in the uneven grass. It looked like a shell from a large capsule, which Paint gathered must have been fired from a barrel six inches in diameter. Who - what - could wield such a thing?

She didn't have to wait for an answer. "Hey, look!" he exclaimed. "FOR MODEL E-1030 / PRODUCT OF EGGMAN ENTERPRISES." She then noticed the tiny lettering on the shell, too - that had been quite perceptive of the toad.

Clearly quaking internally but trying to stay calm, Arrowhead stated matter-of-factly, "Well, this seems to have been shot by one of Dr. Eggman's robots. It's not warm, so it can't have been here within the last couple of hours, but it also isn't the slightest bit aged. In other words, Eggman's on the prowl."

That wasn't good. It'd been a while since Paint had thought of Eggman in any real way; he was almost thought of as a legendary figure rather than a psychotic, very real dictator by both the two of them and the rest of their village. Yet here was all the evidence they could ask for that he was making a comeback - or simply continuing an existing, long-lasting trek across the planet to their neck of the woods.

"Well, Arrow, that's all the evidence we need to get back home right now, eh?" She laughed nervously while speaking the words, which seemed to be directed almost toward herself rather than him, despite the presence of his name in them.

"Yeah, let's keep going; we're not too far anyway," he said. "I should know; I drew up the map for this trip." She was again stricken with a bit of gratefulness as she remembered another way he filled in behind the scenes for her, although this time came with less sadness as she knew it was something he enjoyed doing and was proud of - organization and planning in general, really.

And with that, their journey through the forest back home continued, more purposefully than before, though neither one knew yet how right they were.


	3. Chapter 3

The significance of the shell worried the two friends more and more as they approached their village, but nothing but closing the distance could soothe them completely. Still, the lack of conversation began to bore Paint, whose sadness had fallen to the ground miles ago.

She wouldn't be reflecting on this for long, though. They were climbing the final short hill before their village would be visible and they could offer their defenses against any of Eggman's robots that had had the terrible sense to show up. Paint figured so, anyway - poor physical adeptness for fighting thankfully didn't seem to sit among her many weaknesses. Robot butt would be ripe for kicking. She instinctively began to tighten the muscles in her multicolored arms; her hands, which poked out from the somewhat sharp tufts of wrist fur that almost resembled sleeves of a jacket, clenched in anticipation.

Partly through sensing her determination to fight and partly by his own - which was present, although meek - Arrowhead began to ready his grey-brown body for combat as well. He hoped that he and Paint would be enough to take on whatever lay ahead, whatever had dropped a shell that menacing like nothing and not even bothered to come back and hide it.

Neither of the two could be ready for what awaited them as they reached the summit and the entirety of the village came into view, which was an intact, chipper village as they'd always known it. Everyone was fine.

"Wweeeeelllll," sighed the toad in relief. "I guess Eggman hasn't gotten here yet."

"Aww, I was really look..." Paint trailed off.

"Huh?" said Arrowhead.

"Nothing!" But she had indeed been in the mood for showing her family and friends - well, the other villagers, anyway - that she wasn't worthless, however many vigorous punches and kicks that might take. She was happy that everyone was safe, of course - for now - but this could only take her level of satisfaction so far across the river.

"I'm just glad everyone's safe," he stated.

"Me, too." And she smiled; she was.

As they descended the hill such that it flattened out and they were among the huts and villagers, Paint and Arrowhead noticed two of the other children: Max the Firefly and Jewel the Hyena. Those two both eagerly stepped forward to talk.

Arrowhead, however, would drop the first word: "Hey, guys, has Dr. Eggman been spotted around here?"

Perhaps a little too excitedly, Paint chimed in, "We found a shell that looks like it's from one of his robots!"

Max and Jewel looked at each other and then back at Arrowhead. "Eggman? That old weirdo? What makes you think he's anywhere around?"

"Well," replied Arrowhead, a hint of indignance at Paint being ignored showing its face in his voice, "Paint and I found a shell that looks like it once encased a projectile fired by one of Eggman's robots. It says so on it."

"That's weird," said Max, who Paint thought at first was speaking somewhat with her in mind. Actually, she realized in disappointment, he very well could have been. Perhaps it was nice that he wouldn't address her directly.

"Yeah, I guess it is kinda strange," offered the more relaxed Jewel, who was nevertheless not about to speak to Paint either.

"Okay, then," said Arrowhead with a sigh, "no cause for false alarm, then. See you guys later; we can play cards or something." He and Paint continued walking.

"Later, 'Row!" called Max.

"See ya, Pa- I mean, see ya, Arrow!" shouted Jewel in similar form.

Bright, yellow light shined acutely upon the town; the sun was setting and Paint could prematurely feel herself losing energy. As a half-animal, she needed to eat, but she also had some degree of photosynthesis inside her such that her energy levels fluctuated more than a bit with the presence of sunlight. Her head drooped down as she remembered it would be time to sleep before too long. She would climb on top of a roof or inside a shed; Arrowhead's family was on the understanding side and would even let her stay as a guest in their house sometimes.

"Paint?"

"Yeah, Arrow?"

"Want to stay at my house tonight?" he offered.

She was beaming already. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure! I... I mean, I haven't asked Mom and Dad yet, but I'm sure they'll live..."

She hugged him tightly, rather startling the young toad in the process. The dejected, shy demeanor she'd taken on for some time was gone in favor of the active, cheery self she was with him. "Good job, Arrow! This is what I keep you around for, dear boy! Every adventurer needs a sidekick, and you never disappoint!" He giggled, and she leaned in a little closer.

"So, Arrow, what's for dinner?"


	4. Chapter 4

Arrowhead and Paint hesitantly stepped into the former's house. Like the other buildings, it was a squarish structure, lit in the evening and night by flames that, when there wasn't too much moisture around, lasted for a long time.

Arrowhead's mother and father, larger toads with a few warts in positions not optimal for beauty but otherwise looking quite like their son, were sitting in chairs and reading. They each looked up at the two arrivals. His mother, seeing her son's friend, promptly reverted her gaze to her book, which Paint determined to be about exotic trees. His father, however, sat up to greet the younger toad. "Hiya, son! You're back late. What'd you do today?"

"Hey, Dad," Arrowhead replied, lingering strands of physical exhaustion in his voice. "Paint and I went out to the hills today."

His father's upbeat face steeled. "Oh," he said, "Morris was out gathering nuts or something, and he said he saw a volcano erupt. I suppose it was a matter of time, anyway, as we do indeed live close to a tectonic plate ridge. Landmasses coming together to make that ridge seems to explain the differing reptile fossils that have been excavated near town from those found fifty miles away... S-so, anyway, son, you weren't near there, were you?"

Arrowhead's father took an unhappy, almost threatening glance at Paint before looking back at his son. His mother, by now, also showed concern in her eyes and had set aside her botanical education to find out if her son had been in danger by that mutt girl, who she'd always known was a bad influence.

The little toad rocked back and forth a bit on his heels. "Uh, no. This is the first I've heard of it. Paint and I weren't anywhere near any kind of volcano. We were at the southern hills."

Arrowhead's father seemed relaxed now. "Huh, I don't remember telling you that the tectonic ridge is north of here... Well, you're a well-read kid - you are our son, after all - so maybe you researched that yourself."

Arrowhead smiled uneasily. "Paint showed me some cool rocks in... a cave. It was really interesting."

"That's nice, dear," muttered his mother, who was not about to confront the girl and seemed satisfied that her son had been placed in no danger.

"So, Dad," Arrowhead continued, his voice wavering a bit, "Paint and I had a really great time and I was wondering... can- can she stay here tonight?"

His father sighed. "Arrow... er... I mean, I'm not perfect; I try not to be too prejudiced, but... um... She's not really one of us, now, is she?"

Arrowhead didn't respond verbally, only by keeping his eyes somewhere between "stern" and "puppy-dog".

His father came as close as he would to caving. "Ah, I guess... No one's watching, right?"

Arrowhead motioned toward the closed door and toward the window, where no one seemed to be outside anymore.

"Ah... why not. I just... want you to know that Paint isn't... I- I don't have anything against mutts, but this can't become a regular occurrence. I know, we've had her sleep over before, like when it was raining hard and she had nowhere else to, or when she was violently sick and everyone else turned a blind eye. I even went out to collect berries to help calm her stomach... you know, under the pretense of them being for us. But we do have a certain amount of... status to keep up."

While a little let down by the firm finality of it all, despite the adult toad's kindness, Arrowhead smiled. "I understand. But since she can stay tonight..." He turned to Paint, who grinned back. "What's for dinner?"

"Well, your mother and I had baked potatoes and soup," his father stated, "because we didn't know when you'd get back. We set out the leftovers for you. Paint - er, I'm not really sure how much she needs to eat, but - well, she can have some." He was, at heart, a kind man, and Paint felt a little sorry for him, what with being torn between his son's friendship and the small-town stigma against harboring a freak of biology that everyone knew would never amount to anything.

"Cool!" Arrowhead said, more chipper now. "Come on, Paint!"

The boy and his friend walked over to the far table, on which the food lay. Paint happened to glance back and caught what almost looked like a smile on the face of Arrowhead's father.

"Hey, Arrowhead, these look like snakes! Ooh, I bet some of them are still alive!" she cried provocatively, staring into the young toad's bowl of soup.

"Those are green onions. I suppose I can see the resemblance, though. Oh, here - you need yours!" He found another bowl and poured her some.

"Snakes for me, too, dear boy? You're too generous! I think I shall partake! If my lifelong friend is about to get consumed by vicious reptiles in this wooden prison of doom, I think I don't want to leave him! The afterlife awaits, my good acquaintance!"

"They're not snakes..." he giggled. "Now eat yours!"

And they did. It was those monstrous, limbless reptiles that would meet their ends in the bellies of two fearsome beasts that night. The green onions, the rest of the soup, and the potatoes were somewhat salty, and Paint and Arrowhead were far enough from sadness in all directions for an analogy to tears to come to either of their heads. They were friends, no matter what anyone else thought, and they loved it.


	5. Chapter 5

When dinner was over and everything was put away, Paint and Arrowhead sat on the floor, wondering what they wanted to do. It was rare for Paint to be in the company of this much light at night, so she was unusually energetic for the time of day.

It was too late to go outside, so they were limited to what was inside. Paint also didn't want to bother Arrowhead's parents, who would probably remain occupied with their books for the rest of the night.

"Arrow, I just had an idea!"

"What?"

"Well, you love to read, and I - I mean _we_" - she nudged him playfully - "love to go on adventures, right?"

"Right..."

"Want to write our _own_ story?"

"I... well, heheh, it'd have to be mostly you, Paint."

"How do you figure?"

"You know, you've always been the creative one. I read, yeah, but I just regurgitate other people's discoveries," he replied with a bit of resigned submission.

"Aw, that's no obstacle! You can stitch my dumb ideas up when they make no sense! And that's..." - she began to mutter - "I mean, I think you're plenty creative... So, you in for this?"

He brightened up a little. "Oh, why not? So, Paint," he grinned at her, "what's our story gonna be about?" While he said this, he stood up and fetched some sheets of paper and a pencil from the cupboard.

"They say to write about what you know..." she mused.

"That's great," Arrowhead replied proudly, "because I know about a lot! Spending as much time reading as I do may not carry with it the strongest social rewards, but it's times like this when it sure does help! I think we could come up with a neat story about... trees! How about a girl who lives among the trees? A girl who fights for the sake of the trees? A girl who turns _into_ a tr-"

"I wasn't finished, Arrow; stop getting ahead of yourself!" she chuckled.

"Oh." He wished he'd been able to make more use of his extensive knowledge.

"They say to write about what you know. Well, nuts to that! I think it's more exciting to spin webs about the _un_known."

"I'm not sure about this, Paint."

"What's something you know nothing about? Oh, and trust me; there's a reason! It'll be more fun this way, 'cause we'll have no idea about the direction we could be going in and" - she now looked directly into his confused eyes - "you might even have to be _creative_. Let's do... witches!"

Witches weren't Arrowhead's idea of an engaging plot device, but if Paint thought so, they couldn't be that bad. "Cool," he said curtly as a default response to show simple acceptance.

"Okay, let's see..." She took the pencil to paper and started to jot down a beginning. "'There lived a witch named...' Arrow, what's she named?"

"I dunno; what _kind_ of witch is she?"

"Expertly served, Arrow! The ball's on my side of the court to be original again. She could be an evil witch who's... happy about being evil! Because it means she doesn't have to be tied down to anything or anyone and has nothing to risk on missions. No one can break her heart."

"No, I meant what... what species? What kind of witch?" he said.

"Oh! Well, I've inserted enough in for now. What do you think?" she replied.

"Well, last night my mom and I read about sparrows together..."

"Excellent! She's a sparrow, a purple sparrow. A full-blooded one, too; sparrows all the way up her family tree on both sides. Her genealogy is well-traced. Sparrows are a noble breed."

Arrowhead wasn't sure what to think.

She continued. "And that's good! Sparrows are wicked - as in 'cool', but she's also evil! Now, as for her name..."

"Can it be 'Pomegranate'?" he suggested.

"Sure... but why?" She was intrigued.

"She has a dark, seedy core that no one would want to bite into unintentionally."

This was rather abstract for the toad, and Paint was impressed.

"And," he went on, "she's probably usually alone. I mean, you never see more than one pomegranate, right? Not on someone's plate, anyway."

At this point, Paint was introspecting about the character and Arrowhead. It seemed that he was already better-acquainted with Pomegranate than she was, almost like he knew something Paint didn't. This gave her a sad, pulling feeling, so she came back to reality and found Arrowhead staring at her.

"So, uh, Paint... are you gonna write this down?"

"What? Oh, yeah, my mistake. Must've been daydreaming." With quick and perfunctory strokes all the way, she transcribed everything they'd decided about the character, so that the story could be set up to a decent level. She lacked the will to explore the witch's life further right now, though.

"Hey, Arrow...?"

"What is it?"

"I know this was my idea, but I... I just don't feel like continuing right now. Can we set this aside and go to bed?"

This hit Arrowhead as strange. Here his best friend was, with more opportunity to stay up late than she usually had, and she was ready for bedtime.

"Paint, you do want to write more later, right?" He had just begun to get invested.

"Sure! It's just that I'm tired and I want to be able to think more by myself about, you know, some ideas for the story."

"Okay." He let out a high-pitched yawn. "I'm more tired than I'd thought. We did wake up early in the morning for our adventure."

She smiled at him calling it theirs in general, rather than something she had foisted on him. It didn't excuse her dragging him into danger, but it was nice to know that he considered himself as attached to it as she was.

But now it was time for a mundane question. "Arrow, where's your toothpaste?" She grinned with teeth that apparently weren't white enough for the night. "The mintier the better, please."


	6. Chapter 6

When they were done brushing their teeth, they crawled into Arrowhead's bed and pulled the covers up tight. His parents had fallen asleep in their chairs. Arrowhead, who was closer to the nightstand hosting the only remaining light that was on, blew it out.

"Hey, Arrow, you're not still a bedwetter, are you?"

"Paaiiiint!" It was too dark to tell if his face had reddened, and she figured he was glad of that.

"Heheh, just kidding. G'night."

"Good night," he yawned, and he laid his head down.

One window hadn't had its curtains pulled down, so Paint could see out a bit. The moon was high up, well into gibbous territory. It gazed at the village protectively from atop its thickly forested, hulking hill, almost to remind her that she wasn't completely alone. Despite its light, a few stars were still visible once one's eyes got away from the moon's fringes. A breeze gently tossed leaves at sporadic intervals past the window; they had their own destinations and couldn't stick around for long, and she was, in a way, happy for them that they weren't letting themselves get bogged down by obligations or societal expectations in departing. It really was a beautiful night.

Wanting to feel the cool side of the pillow again, Paint rolled her head over, placing the two somewhat rounded, breathing masses of toad that were Arrowhead's parents into view. A wistful wave collapsed over her and she came upon the urge to talk to her best friend - if he was still awake and would listen.

"Hey, Arrow?"

He yawned once more but appeared willing to hear her. "What is it?"

She sighed. "What's it like to have parents?"

That was jarring. "Well, I don't know how to explain it."

"You've explained theories about the nature of the inside of an electron to me before, and they made sense. I think you can explain something like this."

"Hmm... Well, I guess it's like wearing an extra suit of armor, an extremely light one that's barely visible. They can be inconvenient and cause restrictions that seem unfair, but they're always there for me to protect me and make me feel safe."

Another compelling, wonderful analogy. Having parents sounded like it could fix a lot about her life. But she wasn't done wondering about things, and her best friend would have to be the one there for her for now.

"Arrow, what do you think my parents were like?"

He paused. "...One of them was a plant and the other was a fox - but everyone knows that. I wish people were more tolerant of that; I mean, it's weird, but there's nothing wrong with it..."

She was staring deeply into his eyes.

"A-anyway, uh... They must've had a considerable spirit of adventure between them - you know, as well as intelligence and such. And... purpose, I think."

"Huh?"

"They weren't there to watch you sprout, but your seed landed in a magnificent spot: at the top of a perfect little hill that always got as much sunlight and rain as any of the plants that lived there - including you, as you grew from the seed - could ever want. My dad told me that once. A-and it worked! You grew all the way from that tiny seed to a tiny girl without being attacked by predators or anything. And then you were even luckier to be found on those people's foraging trip when you had just been born but were totally defenseless and couldn't feed yourself or anything. I just think... maybe your parents were watching over you in heaven. They weren't done yet."

She sighed deeply, unsatisfied. It wasn't Arrowhead's fault, but she wanted to know more about her mother and father. "Maybe," she replied simply.

"That's just what I think, anyway," he said.

"I guess I'll never know," she stated in disappointment.

"...Maybe none of us will... but if anyone knows about this, it'd be Morris."

"Morris? That old crank?" she asked.

"Yeah, he was the one who first found you, I remember hearing, and since he's so knowledgeable about the world as a whole - you know, politics, history, and such; not science like my parents - I wouldn't be surprised if he could tell you something, now that I think of it."

"Well," she grunted, "I'm not a huge fan of him, but maybe that's what I need. Shame I never asked you about this earlier. Thank you, Arrow!" She kissed him on the forehead and turned around, ready to sleep for real this time.

He yawned again and stretched, but felt something. "Hey, Paint, there's something furry under the covers, with two little ears... Are you hiding a little rabbit under here?"

She giggled. "Those are my tails, Arrow. You're touching my butt."

"Oh! Sorry!" He quickly shifted back to his old position.

"Hah, good night, Arrow."

"Good night."

Paint's energy having all but run out, their heads sank slowly into the mattress and they both fell asleep for real. The moon stayed up as a benevolent guard.


	7. Chapter 7

In the late morning, when the sun was coming close to the top of its roller-coaster and readying its fickle stomach accordingly, Paint and Arrowhead were walking through the woods once more. They were uncharacteristically carefree, barely chatting and instead preferring to gaze at the endlessly vigorous, lovely leaping butterflies and ceaseless variety of unusual trees. It was nice when it wasn't a time of the year when they had lots of chores and other obligations back at the village - especially because Paint, being Paint, didn't really have any of them and as such tended to be bored waiting for Arrowhead to be done with his. No, this wasn't then; this was summer and she loved it.

The forest floor was illuminated greatly. She was almost surprised that neither they nor the tiny forest creatures were getting blinded by the sun's jaunty glare; when not under the cover of a helpful willow or spruce, she almost felt as though they were being baked slowly alive. Still, the copious light was not at all unpleasant for her, as the process of photosynthesis felt quite good to her and even if the sunlight's excessive quantities could threaten to dehydrate her, there were babbling brooks around for protection.

In fact, it was bright enough that when Paint and Arrowhead caught the first shimmering view of an entire, defunct Eggman robot, they could barely see it for some time. The robot's shiny body reflected all of it.

Confused, she told Arrowhead about the spectacle and, without hesitation, upped her pace to get a closer look. She could barely hear her own voice telling him what it was, and it almost didn't seem to matter whether he was following.

When she reached it after a series of hills that was unusually long given the robot's ostensibly rather low distance from the point at which they first noticed it, she was chilled to see "EGGMAN" written in giant, blocky lettering many times all over the being's body. Though she'd known from the start whose creation it was, seeing it spelled out almost mockingly was unsettling.

Paint was content - well, as much as she would be during this interaction - to sit back and inspect the robot, but it had other plans. It slowly began to rise from the ground, not making much in the way of creaking; it had been active recently and showed no rust. It was a giant, squarish silver thing - really, she hadn't noticed its sheer size before. She felt insignificant next to it, yet there she was and it was staring lifelessly straight at her.

Terror coursed through her veins. This was not good at all. She had to run as fast as she possibly could and not waste a drop of her well-supplied energy looking back - except that she had to protect her best friend.

"ARROW!" she cried out. She wouldn't have minded a rescuer, but he would not be the boy to do it. She was deeply afraid for him.

A tiny voice escaped from somewhere around. "Paint..."

Paint swiveled her head around and noticed Arrowhead's defeated, though still living and conscious, body in the finalizing grip of another one of those robots. Surveying the scene further, she was horrified to notice that there were dozens of them around. None of them were running toward her, nor was Arrowhead's new master seemingly in a mood to harm him, but that wouldn't do her any good: one of Eggman's robots made a swift lunge of the arm downward and grabbed her up before she could react, its fist clenched tightly. She was too full of maddening adrenaline to be able to tell if its metallic grip had been made white-hot by the robot's long-time exposure to the blaring sun. Did it? That didn't even matter.

More and more of the hulking giants strode up, somehow avoiding crushing the numerous trees but forming an impenetrable stadium of power anyway.

"ARROW, IT'LL BE OKAY!" she cried out despondently. "WE'LL FIND EGGMAN AND... AND REASON WITH HIM OR SOMETHING! DON'T WORRY! HE WOULDN'T HAVE ANY REASON TO LET US DIE!"

"I don't know about this, Paint..." He began to sob, his tears evaporating quickly once they'd run along his captor's arm for a few inches.

Paint was absolutely incensed, consumed more viciously by rage at her best friend being driven to tears than she'd ever thought herself capable of being. She would find a way out. Even if it meant she would perish, she would find a way to save him and buy him some time to run back to the village. She would have to.

She flailed and kicked violently at the robot's imposing grip. Nothing happened. Her rage only escalated further. She would not die at the hands of a nearly-mythical evil doctor without saving her best friend, the only one who had ever been selfless enough to give her kindness beyond the perfunctory.

Suddenly, a strange, non-robotic creature appeared in the center of them all, and Paint's fury subsided instantly so she could get a meaningful look from her unwilling vantage point. He was a good amount taller than them, with a wispy black mustache and beard and hair pulled back into a long ponytail that swayed in the gentle breeze. While Paint, Arrowhead, and the other villagers were naked most of the time, this creature was covered in at least two deep blue jackets, thick glasses, and several other gaudy articles of clothing. It dawned on Paint that this must be a human - it was Dr. Eggman!

"Paaaaaaint, my dear girl," Eggman cooed as the robots waited in tacit approval of their master. His lips barely seemed to be moving, and his thin, dapper chest didn't heave much to indicate a strong speaking volume, yet she could hear him just fine even though his mouth was a good sixty feet from her ears.

"Eggman! Why are you doing this?! What could you possibly want with us?!" she shrieked at the human.

"Why, you are a feisty little meat-and-lettuce sandwich. And that's precisely what I love about you! I've been observing you - little have you known, hohoho - for your entire life! I was the one who protected your seed from harm; those nasty predators won't drive themselves away, you know! I've been pleased with the adorable little lady you've grown up to be, and I would like nothing more than to be able to count you among my supporters! With hard work and devotion, you could even become a robot general, or even my partner! Oh, and don't bother resisting; like it or not, you're coming with me, because I'm not losing something I've poured this much of my heart into!"

Shock engulfed Paint as she took in all of these revelations. Its shelf life before turning into pure hatred was limited, though. Nonetheless, she took on a streak of rationality and, for the time being, accepted that she had no other way out. Perhaps she could deceive him and escape with Arrowhead later.

"Well, Eggman, you make a good case and it doesn't look like I have much of a choice!" she shouted. "I suppose I can try my hand at being an Eggman girl."

"Excellent!" he snarled, striking a prouder pose. "Oh, but first, I'll need to eliminate a little... distraction from both of our lives. You know, to keep you focused on your job. Can't have my minions getting too emotional later down the line, you know! Ohoho!"

With that, Arrowhead's captor robot began to squeeze him tighter and tighter. His face turned bright red and he gasped for breath. Paint's heart plummeted and she began shaking. There really was no other way; she started writhing furiously at her robot's grip. It wasn't enough. Arrowhead was about to die, and she could do nothing other than scream pitifully for him.

"ARRRRROOOOOOWWWWWW!"

Paint awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. Arrowhead, who was fine, looked up at her from his position in the bed with a worried expression.

"Paint, are you okay? You were tossing and turning a lot - and sweating up more moisture than I knew plants carried. Were you having a nightmare?"

She was flooded with relief that her best friend was still alive, well out of reach of Eggman and anyone else. She wouldn't - couldn't - leave him vulnerable again. She hugged him tightly, wept a little bit, then sat back in bed, oddly cheery.

"Yeah, but I'm fine now! Thanks for asking, Arrow. I was worried about losing you."

He wasn't convinced, but he also didn't think it would be a prudent idea to try to squeeze anything else out of her.

"So, Arrow," she started with a chipper grin, "when are we gonna go off and see Morris? My life story's a pretty big deal - amirite - and I want my best buddy in on the action!"

"Eh, after breakfast." His toad stomach growled in approval.

Her friendly stomach said hello to it. "Sure," Paint replied, "I want to be mentally prepared for all of this, anyway."

Paint looked over at Arrowhead's parents' chairs. The sun had come up, but they were still asleep.

"Hey, Arrow," she said. "Want to make your parents breakfast, too?"


	8. Chapter 8

"I still can't get over how terrible that was," Paint said as she and Arrowhead trudged away from his house. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," he replied encouragingly. "You're just not very experienced with handling toasters. And hey, most of the pancake batter stayed in the bowl, right?"

"I guess you're right, heh. And if I do say so myself, the salvageable chunks of eggs were pretty tasty. You did a good job helping."

"If by 'a good job' you mean 'didn't knock anything else over when I cowered out of the way of the airborne dollops of batter', then yeah, I did," he muttered.

"Don't fret, my fellow adventurer! Let's set this behind us and never look back, just like your parents did with the plates. Onward to learn of the troubling tales of the trouble with the tails, Paint the Mutt Knight of Courage and Kindness!"

"I'm adventuring in my head already!" the faithful toad chirped.

It didn't look like the two friends would be uninterrupted on their quest for long: Max the Firefly and Jewel the Hyena were striding up.

"'Sup, Marrowhead? Want to scare some little kids with me and Drool here - or, more interestingly, start up that game of cards we talked about?" Max asked coolly.

"Yeah, Arrow," chimed Jewel, "we haven't done much lately, and that makes me sad." With that, Max roughly tousled his hair. Paint couldn't tell whether this was just jovial or Max was reprimanding his friend for showing sensitivity - maybe both.

"Uh, actually, Paint and I are going somewhere," said Arrowhead.

Max stared at Paint, giving her an unflattering look and curling his antennae up a little. With his head turned toward her but still speaking to Arrowhead, Max asked, "Why's that? Don't you have better things to do? Even if your two best friends don't take precedence, surely _something_ has to outrank _Paint_?"

Before she could stop herself, she retorted, "Maybe he _wants_ to be with me right now, Max. You guys hang out with him plenty; why do you need to be jealous of me for getting a little time with him? Oh, and nice green eyes; they match your butt nicely."

That was too far, apparently. Max lunged at her furiously, pinning her on the ground in the process. When he spoke to Jewel, however, his voice exhibited an icy relaxation.

"Yo, Jewel! I've got her pinned! I know I've trained you well, so let's see it in action! Whale on her a bit and show her what happens when you forget your place and mess with us!"

Jewel stepped up, shaking a little. While Arrowhead sat quivering, too afraid to help out either party, Jewel readied his clenched fist for impact. He pulled it back before sending it coursing forward. However, Paint was weeping a little and flinched, and Jewel had already decided that he wouldn't go through with it.

Max was confused. "Jewel, wh-"

Jewel spoke icily to Paint, a hatred coursing through his voice that truly frightened her. "Do you know what an overgrown seed does when she steps out of line and someone is merciful enough not to knock her unconscious?"

Paint couldn't even muster the energy to expel much air from her mouth. "Wh-what?"

Jewel filled her in. "She _leaves_."

Impressed with Jewel's alternative to physical violence, Max let her up. She staggered for a few steps before collapsing onto Arrowhead.

"'Row, get her out of my sight," Max commanded. "It was a bad idea to bring her along, but I forgive you. That doesn't mean I want to look at her any longer."

Solemnly, they kept walking in the direction of Morris' hut. Neither one felt much like talking to someone with a notoriously grumpy demeanor after an altercation like that, but they were also not about to go back to Arrowhead's house, not after they had come so far and Max and Jewel were likely to be waiting around in the same place. They could sit and think for a while.

Her eyes mostly dry, Paint looked back at the two little prejudice enforcers. Max was staring off into space, unsmiling, but Jewel was looking back at them, clearly concerned for her.

In a way, Paint wished she could rescue Jewel from Max. They'd been accosting her on occasion for years, but Jewel had increasingly seemed uncommitted, like he didn't want to hurt her - maybe even wanted to be friends or something - but was afraid. It wasn't even about gathering another ally to wait out the eternal storm with her; she was genuinely sad for him.

Having walked their appropriate course, Paint and Arrowhead sat down, slumped against a thick-trunked tree.

Paint spoke cynically to her friend. "Arrow, if my parents are watching over me, they need glasses, and fast."

He could only nod in bitter agreement. It wasn't fair; it wasn't fair at all.


	9. Chapter 9

After sitting and staring at the pretty morning sky while they gathered their bearings for a while, Paint and Arrowhead stood up in unison.

"Well, Arrow, let's do this. I don't care if I learn anything unpleasant; I'm just sick of not knowing who my parents were."

He nodded, showing no emotion.

They quietly walked the few hundred yards to Morris' hut. Other villagers were quietly talking and going on with their daily tasks; those close enough to the scene of the incident either hadn't noticed or weren't interested in consoling either of the two friends. It was a wholly unremarkable morning besides being rather cool.

Billowy cumulus clouds drifted at a caterpillar's pace above; they must have been quite high up. With no conversation to distract her, Paint daydreamed about flying among them, racing them to wherever they were going and possibly having to urge them to keep up and stay in the race. She'd climbed the tallest trees around when Arrowhead was too scared to, and she had never been very afraid of heights. It was pleasant to muse about.

The dirt path faded away as they reached the eastern outskirts of the village. First it turned into trampled grass, then just grass. The trees began to dot their path, then thickened. Morris wasn't _too_ isolated - his hut was still clearly visible from the closest to it - but it was clear that he was solitary and liked it that way.

They both stepped up to it. Neither was timid as they knocked together on the old wooden door. The house had no stairs and they had a reasonable reason to be there, so there was no reason to feel inferior or out-of-place.

"Who is it? What do you want?" the man groaned from inside. Apparently the rare times he had to deal with visitors were still too many. Sure, he helped out the village - he wasn't that old, so he could still go out to gather fruits and nuts and hunt - but that was on his own time, with his own generosity. This was a generally accepted fact about the man.

"It's Paint and Arrowhead," Arrowhead piped up. "We were wondering if we could ask you some questions."

"Paint and Arrowhead? Ugh, can't you strange little kids get your yipping and ribbiting out of your systems in front of someone who cares?"

It was Paint's turn. "No, it needs to be you. I..." Was she ready for this? There could be no turning back if she heard something she didn't want to. Sure, she'd tried to convince herself that wouldn't be an issue, and for the most part she'd succeeded, but this was it.

"'I' what? You had plenty of chance to 'trail off' while walking up here; you don't need to do it again when speaking to someone. Is that the kind of etiquette your parents taught you? Oh, wait..."

Paint bristled a little, but it was still important that she get him to open up, in more ways than one. "It's about that, actually. I know what a worldly guy you are" - she was glad he couldn't see her cringing - "and I want to know what you know about my parents."

No sounds escaped from the interior for a few seconds. The two buddies looked at each other, confused and leaning toward worried. However, they then heard someone slowly rising from a chair, stretching, and plodding heavily over to the door.

Morris opened it slowly but widely; a crack wouldn't do as he was prepared to accept them inside. "Don't mind the darkness," he muttered, lazily scratching his rear end. "I actually pref- eh, you know what? For you kids, I can make do with a little light." He plodded, more slowly than before, over to a few windows and opened each one before falling back into his chair and comfortably sinking into it. There weren't other chairs around, and he seemed to make no further attempts to accommodate Paint and Arrowhead, so they sat on the wooden floor.

Paint wasn't normally one to judge, but she'd never realized before what a slob Morris was. His reptilian skin looked unhealthy and poorly taken care of - he couldn't have taken a bath in the past week; a weak smell told her that, too. He was also a little more overweight than she remembered, and his beady iguana eyes looked deeply tired despite his ample opportunities to sleep. There was a piece of a wrapper of some kind stuck to his right foot.

"So," Morris said with his fingers interlocked, "about your parents - Well, first off, how much do you know now?"

Disappointed, Paint said, "Well, I don't know anything other than that one was a fox and one was some kind of plant creature - probably an alien. And that's just obvious from looking at me. If anyone else around here knows any more, they haven't shared it yet."

"If it matters, Paint," Arrowhead volunteered, trying to comfort her, "I don't know anything I haven't already told you."

Morris scowled. "I hate this town sometimes. I really do. I can't be the only one who knows what I'm about to tell you, and yet none of the other adults have- The adults in this town really need to grow up. It's ridiculous that they treat you _this_ badly just for... Er, well, it's ridiculous that I have to be the first one to tell you this."

This really was it. "Please do tell me," Paint asked submissively.

"Your father's name was- First of all, he's still alive, last I checked, so don't worry about that." Morris coughed quietly.

Paint was overwhelmed with excitement, shaking, even. "R-really?! He's alive?!"

Morris gave a sheepish smile. "Well, yes. Again, I really do feel bad that I'm the first one telling you this. Er, then again, maybe his present status isn't nearly as well-known as what he did earlier in his life."

Paint stared in absolute wonder. Arrowhead too was mesmerized by the revelations.

"Anyway, like I was saying: He's a fox named Miles Prower, but he's better known as 'Tails', on account of having two long, bushy tails that he can use as a propeller to fly with. Y'know, 'Tails' is a name that'd ring a bell to a few people around here."

She was giggling wildly, unable to contain herself. It made so much sense: he must've been the parent that donated the genes for having two tails to her genetic code. She was, however, jealous that her father could use his tails to fly instead of just having them around as yet another mark of weirdness. Perhaps he'd been ostracized for the mutation just like her anyway, though.

Arrowhead spoke up, more calm than his pal. "Morris, you've mentioned Tails being accomplished and well-known - outside of this desolate area of the world, anyway. What'd he do?"

"He saved the world! The galaxy, even! He built a giant spacecraft and journeyed into the galaxy with a number of other rogues - er, Sonic the Hedgehog, Amy Rose, Knuckles the Echidna; you could name-drop one of those even in an uncultured pit like this and get a knowing look in return, if you're with reasonably cultured people - to stop this group of evildoers called the Metarex from taking it over or worse! Come to think of it, the Metarex turned out to have been pla- ...Ahaha, Tails was certainly a little wizard! He would've been, oh, two or three years younger than you when he was doing all of this!"

"He sounds incredible - and he's my dad!" Paint yipped excitedly. "What about my mom? What are she and he off doing nowadays?"

Morris' face sank deeply, below its usual grumpy state. Paint and Arrowhead sensed this and took on some concern.

"Your mother was... I... She didn't survive the fight."

Paint certainly wasn't excited now, but she didn't know how to feel. "...Oh."

"She was a very brave girl, more courageous than I would've been way up there, definitely. Tails was incredibly depressed for a long time when they all came home, even now - he must be an adult by now, actually."

Paint still wasn't feeling anything discernible. "Huh. What was her name?"

"Cosmo," Morris replied curtly.

"She, uh, obviously she was a plant like I am. What kind?"

Morris looked out the window, almost as though searching for an escape he knew he couldn't reach. "Uh... a unique kind. She was the last of her kind; you're the only currently living one of her kind I'm aware of."

Paint stood up, still shaken from all of the news. "W-wow. I- I'd really like to meet him someday." Arrowhead rose from the ground with her; it seemed that the meeting was coming to a close.

"That'd be tough," Morris yawned while scratching the back of his scaly neck. "He, Sonic, Amy, Knuckles, and those other guys all live on the other side of the world - and that's when they're here. I think they go into space sometimes to look for materials, and they battle sometimes with Dr. Eggman" - Paint nodded in recognition - "which as I remember has also taken them into space more than once. Tails is a seriously accomplished engineer all-around.

"But you know what? If there's any way for you two to get out of this dump, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to meet him eventually. And if you do... Oh, my, that boy's face when he sees his daughter would make my cold heart melt."

Paint and Arrowhead smiled, too. "Thanks, Morris," Paint exhaled with deep gratitude oozing out like sap from a maple tree after a long dry season. They started out the door; he deserved to be left alone if that was what he wanted.

Perhaps not, though. "Wait, you kids." They turned back to face him. "You two are alright, much more than I'd expected from a couple of grubby little know-it-alls. I just want you to know, you can come back here whenever you want. Don't let my isolation be an obstacle. Speaking of which" - he turned his head to scan the hut's interior - "maybe I should clean up a little..."

"Alright, Morris, see you some other time!" said Arrowhead.

As they strode out into the cool morning, Paint was ecstatic. Her mother looked to have been a great person, but her father was still alive and kicking, and that was more than she had ever dreamed possible.


	10. Chapter 10

Finding out about her father gave Paint newfound drive. She'd find him someday, though she wasn't sure how it would ever happen.

She and Arrowhead left Morris' property, taking them back into civilization, so to speak. The dirt trail reappeared, and so did the familiar sensory musk of flat, vague contempt. Paint had felt comfortable with Morris despite barely knowing him and speaking for less than an hour, because he had actually bothered to talk to her - _with_ her - voluntarily. Ah, well. The real world had them back.

Almost had them back, anyway. Both of the two were surprised to see Jewel poke his head out from behind a thick tree and then his entire body. Arrowhead tensed up, but Paint was moreso just confused.

"Jewel, what is it?" She was inclined to be suspicious - had Max sent him back to sic on her again? He was probably strong enough to overpower her again even without his first-in-command. But this inclination dissipated as Paint saw that he looked truly sad, not menacing or deceitful.

"I'm sorry about me and Max attacking you." He hung his head in true sorrow, far removed from a soulless ritual of apology. "I just- I- I don't know how to say no to him."

Arrowhead opened his mouth in disgust, but Jewel began to cry a little. Paint hadn't been mad from the start, and Arrow couldn't stay mad.

"Jewel, it's okay," she comforted softly. "I had a feeling you didn't want to hurt anyone."

He sniffed. "I... I don't. I like you, no matter what anyone else thinks. Especially no matter what he thinks. You're never mean to anyone, even with all they disrespect you."

Flattery had no place here; Jewel still needed her. "Why have you stayed with Max so long?" she asked.

"He's cool! Most of the time. He's never afraid of anything, and he even protects me and stands up for me. Kind of. It's just that with you... I don't know, I can never get to him."

Arrowhead spoke up. "Jewel, you should leave him."

"I- I can't..." Jewel sniffed again.

Paint knew it wasn't going to get better between Max and Jewel regarding her, but she couldn't force herself to confront the little hyena about it. He didn't need that right now. "Arrow, it's okay," she said quietly. Arrowhead nodded.

She then turned to Jewel. "Arrow and I don't have anything to do now. Wanna hang out?" Her wry little grin peeked out once more.

"I... I can't now." He scanned their surroundings, apparently concerned that someone was spying on them. "I don't know if I should be associating with you anyway. Agh, no! I'm so confused!"

"Okay, well, hehe" - she deliberately laughed a little to keep the tension low - "if you change your mind, you can always find Arrow and me... where the winds of adventure blow harmonies of change."

"I'll keep that in mind. See you guys later," Jewel said, giggling too, before remembering that he ought to put on a straight, if not condemning, face while dealing with the mutt. He really wasn't comfortable staying any longer - not then - so he waved goodbye to confirm his departure and set off for some new path.

"I feel terrible for him," Paint said to Arrowhead, nearly at a whisper.

"Why? He can start being nice to you whenever he wants."

"I don't think so. Max knows how to intimidate; that's for sure."

"We'll have to find him when he knows he's alone and is willing to talk for real," Arrowhead resolved.

"Good idea." That worked for now.

Paint remembered something. "So, Arrow... _do_ we have anything to do now?"

"I don't know of anything."

Standing up straight and bold, she announced to him, playfully once again, "Well, my dear boy, how about another adventure? I do believe it'd be a natural crime to resist this exquisite weather, eh?"

"Sure, haha." He was already getting in the mood for scoping out new sights. The areas near the village were all familiar to both of them, so this would need to be quite an adventure, but that somehow was fine with him.

"Onward, then!" They marched past Morris' hut and back into the endless forest. The enveloping blanket of trees invited them into its skin, and they could not refuse. They had no destination and little purpose but mundane summer boredom, and neither one of them minded. Exploration time together was its own reward, although Paint had begun to wish their posse would expand to three.


	11. Chapter 11

It wasn't until the two friends crossed the river that they truly knew they'd entered unknown territory.

"Arrow, I just realized: I've never been on this side of the river!" Paint exclaimed with delight as they continued walking. "Even the other side I've only been up to that one time I tagged along with you and your dad when you were fishing. Didn't have the heart to drag you two any further out since I hadn't even been invited. Well, that era's gone now!"

"I've never been any further than that, either," Arrowhead disclosed, "even though I've been _up_ to it a few times. I guess we are pretty set in our ways."

"Now _that_ is why I take the onerous task upon my frail self to keep you by my side, little boy!" Paint ribbed. "Not enough natural drive for exploration! Ah, don't feel bad; I've rather enjoyed the process of building my trusty sidekick into a strong, courageous maverick."

"We're only a hundred meters or so in..."

Their journey continued without spectacle for a mile or two until they came to a sudden and rather steep hill. It wasn't a cliff, nor would it even be especially hard to scale on their way back, but it afforded them a spectacular view. From the top of it, miles of rolling waves of colorful trees and rock formations showed themselves. It was all very inviting, and so Paint and Arrowhead walked, hopped, and dropped as necessary to reach the bottom and be surrounded by it all. They weren't far enough from home for the foliage to be of unfamiliar varieties, but they'd scarcely seen so much of it presented so well. Paint found herself a little proud of her botanical heritage.

"Paint, I've never seen..." Arrowhead, normally more articulate, trailed off in wonder.

"I know!" she chimed in. "We plants certainly have our moments."

As the incline plateaued out completely, they noticed a creek snaking around the tree-speckled meadow. Having had nothing to drink in hours, they gleefully sipped from it. Paint realized she was too hot in the now-bleaching sun, so she let herself tumble headfirst into the water and become drenched entirely. As toads are well-suited to such things, Arrowhead joined her. It was a surprisingly agreeable sensation to sit on top of rocks while mostly submerged in cold water - especially with one's best friend.

"Thanks for letting me coerce you into coming along," Paint said, genuinely happy to have her best friend along for something like this.

"Hey, I never protested! I said I had nothing to do, which I didn't, so here we are!"

"Good! Looks like my bad influences have taken root in your head already! The transformation's well underway: Arrowhead the Toad is learning to live!"

He tittered at that, but if this was what being Paint was like on a good day, he wouldn't have minded more.

"Arrow, we should t..." Something was happening. "Do you... hear something?"

He did. It wasn't too far off, either, and it was definitively approaching. "Yeah."

She wasn't sure whether to be scared by the noise of something coming, but she had a sense they'd want to be ready for it either way. Instinctively, she rose from the water, wiping away a few rocks that had clung to her fur and naked skin, and Arrowhead did likewise. In something between wonder and a sinister trance, they slowly, methodically approached the sound, inviting its carrier up to them.

"Hey, Paint, what do you think that is?"

"I'm not sure. It could b- AAAAGH!"

Panic flooded them: it was a robot about twice their height. Its right arm housed a gun that looked to exactly fit the bullet shell they'd found the previous day. It was Eggman's, and it wanted them.

"ARROW, L-LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" she shouted. She grabbed his hand to skedaddle but noticed some resistance. Did he not want to live? Was her best friend okay with being blasted apart by a being they should have considered themselves lucky to find a piece of, which should've been warning enough?

"WE HAVE TO GO! THAT THING'S GONNA... uh..." Her yell dulled. He wasn't moving, and the understanding came to her, too: it wasn't about to shoot them.

"What's it doing...?" she muttered. The robot slowed as it met them before coming to a halt entirely, a comfortable few feet of personal space away.

"It looks curious," he mused. The robot didn't seem to want to hurt them. Its mind was active; that much was certain by the cameras visibly rotating and refocusing inside its two eyes, as well as its shifting, panning, inquisitive head. But its plans for them appeared to stop at "analyze" - or even "befriend". Its armed arm was down and wasn't heating up for firing, nor was the robot about to set any nets or other traps on them.

"What do you want, robot?" Paint asked, still timid and in defense.

It squealed and whirred.


	12. Chapter 12

After a bit more whirring and beeping, the robot seemed to realize it wasn't being understood by its two new flesh-and-blood friends, so it stood for a bit more to think. When it resumed activity once more to communicate through gestures, Paint and Arrowhead lost their apprehension and tried to understand the creature.

It pointed its lumbering, bulky arm at its own head. _I something_, or _something me_. It then plodded over to a tree, gently plucked a few leaves off, and held them in front of its face for Paint and Arrowhead to see. This was a more mysterious signal, one less commonly seen in necessitated charades.

"It looks like it's trying to represent someone," Paint wondered aloud. She waited for a response from the robot and didn't get one; perhaps it didn't understand their language very well.

"Is that a... mustache?" Arrowhead asked her. "Is it... Hey, is that Dr. Eggman? Does he have one?" He turned to the robot. "Dr. Eggman! He created you, right?"

The robot excitedly whistled and nodded, recognizing the name as belonging to its creator. "So this is about something between Eggman and you?" Paint tried. It whirred once, non-indicatively, before continuing with its speech - or plea.

It pointed to its head again. _I _or _me_ again - or maybe something about its head. Paint considered these options and, because the robot was expectantly waiting to continue, nodded in approval.

This gesture was more sinister. The robot set its arms straight out in front of its torso and slowly moved them apart while ejecting abstract white noise from its voice box that quieted down as its arms got more distance between them.

Paint got the idea, but because of the robot's apparently limited vocabulary, she tried a few words. "An explosion? Explode? Blow up? Destroy?"

It whirred a few times in approval again, but with less enthusiasm. This was fear, Paint realized - made more apparent by the fact that the robot cowered as if to hide from something, even though its routine seemed to be over.

"Your head's going to destroy..." Paint wondered aloud. "No..." Then it hit her. "Eggman wants to blow you up?"

"With your head?" Arrowhead chipped in.

The robot gave its approval once more, even more fearful than before.

"He must've set a self-destruct charge in its head. Maybe it didn't go off for some reason, and the robot's afraid it will." Paint suggested quietly to Arrowhead.

"Yeah, but what are we gonna do about it?" Arrowhead retorted. "There's no way we could fix it, even if we wanted to."

"I _do_ want to," replied Paint with a strangely forceful determination. "And there has to be a way. Look" - she pointed out - "there are screws on its head! We can open it up and take the explosives out."

Arrowhead wasn't happy. "At what cost? How do you know they won't go off while we're taking them out? How do you know _we_ won't get blasted to pieces?"

Paint didn't relent. "Well, look at how lost and dirty this thing looks. It's probably really far away from Eggman, which tells me that the explosives aren't going off because Eggman's signals can't get to it."

"But how does it know Eggman wants to blow it up?"

"He probably tells all his robots that, like if they misbehave or rebel. This little one knows it's been bad by wandering off," she guessed.

The robot whirred a few times half-heartedly. Maybe it'd understood some of that.

She steeled, truly enraged now at the invisible doctor. "What kind of thing is that to tell your children?! Having them live their whole lives under the threat of being blasted to pieces for who knows what! They mess up sometimes; even robots do, I'm sure. But if you know they're able to get scared, why would you be so unforgiving?!"

Arrowhead was silent.

Paint picked up a stick and a stone - a dry one from the bank, not from the stream - and furiously chiseled it into something that could invade the robot's head.

"Paint, I'm really not sure about this," Arrowhead implored. "I still think it's too dangerous."

She made clear that she wasn't budging. "Maybe. But I'm not gonna let this little one keep on fretting, only to finally explode for real once Eggman gets in range. I know 'it's just a robot', but darn it, it's scared to death, however that works, and what kind of life is that? Maybe its dad abandoned it, but that doesn't mean I will!" She was weeping a little.

The toad couldn't say anything, and Paint composed herself.

"Arrow," she requested calmly, "I don't think it will, but just in case something _does_ go wrong, I want you to run away right now. A few hundred feet, maybe - that should be enough distance. If nothing happens and I get rid of the explosives, I'll call back to you and we can figure out what to do with our new friend next. But just in case: I owe you everything, Arrow. I have my share of difficulties, but I'm always happy when I remember I have you for a friend, even though you don't need to stick by me. I love you."

"I... I..."

"Now, go," she instructed.

She wasn't going to change her mind. He turned away in response and ran away. There was nothing else to do. He felt nothing but numb fear as he hoped she was right about the explosives. He kept running, tripping occasionally but keeping on. He crossed the plants she had pointed out as he hopped partway back up the hill. Finding a spot he could safely survey everything from, he sat down at it. This was it.

Down by the creek, Paint spoke to the robot. "Can you go to sleep? I'll tell you when to wake up!" She smiled at it. This wouldn't hurt a bit.

It understood, and in the span of about twenty seconds, it sat down and set all of its body processes on standby. It could awaken whenever she told it to, but for the time being, it would be safe to operate on.

Paint took a few steps down to the creek again, sipped some water so she could concentrate, and took those few steps back behind the robot. There was no use in waiting; Arrowhead was safe in the event of an error and the surgical tool was ready.

With the makeshift screwdriver, Paint opened up the hatch on the back of the robot's head. Sure enough, there was an explosive-looking canister inside, with an ugly Eggman logo to confirm its origin. It wouldn't be difficult to remove. Paint stuck her hand inside the hatch, grabbed the canister, and yanked it out.


	13. Chapter 13

Unfortunately, Paint exploded.

With relief. This surge of pleasant hormones was unfortunate because she really couldn't be sure yet of her and the robot's safety. Nonetheless, the first and most painful step was over; the canister had come out easily in her hand. Neither of them was going to die.

Paint then replaced the hatch on the back of the robot's head and screwed it back in, as a second step toward salvation from anxiety.

But what could she do with the canister, which could in theory go off at any time?

Well, what about burying it? It wouldn't hurt anything or anyone then, right? No, that would take too long. And who knew - maybe it could trigger an earthquake. How deep within the crust did those start again?

How about letting it flow down the river like an infant to a new home? No, whatever new home it found wouldn't be happy to meet it, and who knew how it well it would do in water or inevitably banging against rocks?

She had it! It wouldn't do much harm at the top of a tree. Perhaps it would be struck by lightning, but that causes destruction anyway, right? The only obstacle was to actually get it up there - to _stay_ up there, too.

Luckily, one was close. Paint walked over to the tree, which was blanketed with proliferating vines, as some of them were, then climbed to the top. It was high up, but she had climbed plenty of taller ones. Moreover, every inch she climbed incrementally decreased the chance that anyone or anything on the ground would be hurt if the explosives did, in fact, lose their temper, and that kept her going.

Once there, she licked the canister all over. This was one advantage of being half-plant: her saliva was slightly syrupy and could help the canister stick to the rough tree branches. It wouldn't be enough, though; to keep it in place, she set it in the nook between the highest available branch and the trunk, licked the trunk as well for good measure, and tied it up with vines. It wasn't going anywhere; it had done its crime by scaring the robot, so it would do its time.

Paint was relieved for real this time, so she scaled all the way down.

"AAARROOOOWWWW!" she yelled at the top of her lungs in the toad's direction. She and the robot were safe.

He was a bit off in the distance, but she could see him enthusiastically skipping and hopping down the hillside. She waited for him patiently, and he didn't let up in speed. There was more zeal in his steps than there had been when she had told him to leave; his best friend was safe.

When he reached her, they hugged deeply and for over two minutes. She felt a couple of tears from him on her shoulder; there was no shame in that.

No words escaped either's mouth as they stepped over to the robot - almost as if not to wake it, though they wouldn't, of course, until Paint said something.

"Rise and shine, robot! You're all better!"

Nothing happened for a few seconds, and Paint was instinctively worried that something was wrong. Sure enough, though, life stirred within its metal shell; it took a few minutes and booted up all the way. Paint and Arrowhead stayed by its side the whole time, vaguely protectively and to comfort it as it awoke.

When its eyes regained their earlier focus, it realized Paint was standing before it. It shook around its head to confirm the absence of its parasite and seemed to realize a light weight had been lifted. It squealed in delight and nearly lunged at Paint as it hugged her. To a normal person, a few hundred pounds of steel coming down a little too roughly would be rather intimidating, but Paint embraced it back, unharmed. She couldn't think of where it might have learned such a gesture, but the sentiment was quite enough.

It stepped back to admire, if not wait on, its two new friends, and an idea came to Paint.

"Hey, we don't have anything to call you! What's your name?"

It first looked confused, then realized it had something like one: it pointed to some rather small yet blocky white lettering on its side.

"'E-1030,'" Paint read aloud. "That's..."

"That's the same serial number as was on the projectile shell we found yesterday!" Arrowhead exclaimed.

"Ohhh. Were you shooting your gun yesterday?" she inquired, pointing at its gun.

It beeped once, deliberately. "I guess that's a no," Paint muttered to Arrowhead. "So there was another E-1030 model around our village. Hey" - she turned to the robot again - "how many E-1030s _are_ there?"

It didn't know how to answer that in nearly exact terms, so it gestured at a nearby tree - the same Paint had climbed, though it of course wasn't aware of this - and then panned its arm across the valley and its thousands of trees.

"Oh, there are lots of you! Are you the only one who's gotten lost?"

Sheepishly, it whirred a few times. As far as it knew, it was.

"Well, then, if there are so many of you, maybe we'll meet others at some point, so we'll have to come up with a name that's just your own!" She turned to her older friend. "Arrow, got any ideas for this lovely creature?"

"Male or female?" he asked her. That was a good place to start, he thought.

"Hey, yeah - are you a boy or a girl? Or neither one, I guess?"

She only got a blank, befuddled stare. It didn't understand what gender was, and she couldn't think of a good way to explain it. Perhaps that didn't matter here.

"What do you see yourself as? What... are you? Other than an E-1030 robot. Other than a creation of Eggman," she asked.

That was an abstract question, and Paint immediately wanted to recant it. "I- I mean..." she stammered, hoping to rephrase it.

Strangely, though, it had an answer: it covered its eyes - part of the gesture - and pointed at the sky.

"Sky?" Paint asked it. No, it seemed to tell her.

"Moon?" No to that, too.

"...Star?" And Paint got happy whirs in return. The symbolism wasn't yet clear, though. "How are you like a star?"

Star gestured at the expansive canvas of trees and mimed being scared, both gestures from earlier that Paint recognized - and that Star knew she would.

"Oooohhhh!" she gasped. That was wonderful. "There are lots of you, but you're still lost and scared!"

"Wow," Arrowhead muttered at the robot's mind.

More whirs of approval.

"And, you know," she said, editorializing, "you're pretty, too! And you're lighting up our lives already."

Star squealed in delight once more.

"And because of that," Paint continued, "we can't just abandon you. Star, want to come home with us?"

Arrowhead's response was predictable. "Paint, I really don't know about this. Helping Star out was nice and all, but..."

Paint's face said it all to him.

"Ah, I just... Okay, fine, let's go." Sometimes there was no reasoning with her when she thought she was right. It couldn't work out _too_ badly, anyway - and he had grown to enjoy Star's company. For an ostensible mindless destruction machine, Star was sweet.

"Here, let's show you the way," Paint told Star.

And with that, the three buddies began their long trek home. Enough exploring had been done for the day. While Star had no use for such things, Paint's and Arrowhead's stomachs complained; they hadn't had anything to eat since Paint's botched breakfast. There were berries and such around, if they could find them, but that wouldn't fill them up much. They would need a real dinner - but, perhaps more pressing, they would need to find something to do with Star. After all, neither one was under the illusion that the townspeople - if not prepared for the ordeal - would respond at all well to one of Eggman's robots barging in on their placid lives.


	14. Chapter 14

Arrowhead had reasoned that Star would arouse the least public fear if it was visibly interacting as a friend with him and Paint, especially him due to his higher social stature. He also didn't think it'd be wise to warn the townspeople beforehand, as their prejudices would likely blind them to the possibility of Star being nice and nonviolent.

Toward that end, as they approached the village as they'd left it - near Morris' dwelling - he began speaking in a friendly tone to the robot. This was Paint's cue to join in on the display - she wasn't well-respected, but she wasn't thought of as _dangerous_ - and that she did.

Nevertheless, it would be appropriate for their conversation to be one they'd be having with Star anyway; all that mattered was the general likely impression of its tone.

"Star, how long were you lost?" Arrowhead asked.

Star pointed to the bright, mid-yellow sun, which had fallen deep into the blazing sky, and then waved its hand around the village, or what it could see of it. Fifty or sixty huts, maybe - fifty or sixty days, roughly.

The three were now rounding Morris' hut, and it was Paint's turn to chime in: "How did you _get_ lost?"

They stopped so the robot could explain. Star extended one arm to point at her and one at Arrowhead, then conjured some angry bouts of white noise from its mouth - this was projecting emotions onto two other figures from Star's past. It then retracted its arms and stopped the noise before plodding off sullenly and reverting its gaze to Paint expectantly.

"Ohhh... the other E-1030s didn't like you, so they told you to leave?" she asked.

Star confirmed quietly. It didn't make any hiding movements, though; it wasn't embarrassed, but sad.

"Well, that's no good! Looks like we'll have to be extra-tight buddies of yours."

Star seemed to giggle.

Paint had decided with Arrowhead that they'd like someone else on their cause if possible, so she rapped on Morris' door. "It's Paint and Arrowhead again! And... someone else."

Much more swiftly than before, Morris got up and walked to the door. When he pulled it open and saw Star alongside the two he was already acquainted with, his face jumped first to primal fear. He didn't jump from the door, though - before he could, he realized that it was not shooting or pummeling either of the two, and he took on a look of wry confusion.

"That's one of Eggman's robots, isn't it?" was his first verbal reaction.

"Yes, it is, but don't worry!" Arrowhead was sure to present as early as possible. "It's not going to hurt us. It was lost and scared. We were exploring a few miles away, and it came to us for help. Now we're something in the vein of its friends."

Morris sighed. "Do you have a name for it?"

"Star," Paint and Arrowhead chimed. Arrowhead continued: "It's an E-1030 model."

Star pointed at Morris and looked inquisitively at Paint.

She filled Star in. "His name's Morris the Iguana! Don't worry; he's not scared of you."

The robot turned to Morris and cheerfully beeped a few times.

"H-hi, Star," he grunted. He had something to ask Paint about, though: "I hope you know what you're doing. This town's minds aren't getting any wider, and they're not gonna be happy to see an E-1030 hopping around. I urge you to go on about your evening with caution."

"That's why we came here, Morris," Arrowhead implored. "We need someone else to... vouch for Star not being a monster. I know you're well-regarded in the community, so we were wondering if you could spread the word and... ease people in gently to Star being around."

"It's important to us, because we want our new friend to be accepted. It's a kind soul somehow, even if it is an Eggman robot," Paint contributed. Actually - the thought dawned on her - she hadn't actually seen any other creations of Eggman. It wasn't necessarily appropriate yet to contrast Star with the rest - although, granted, the only other two individual robots of his she knew of had been mean to Star.

"Well, the robot gets my preliminary blessing," Morris stated, "and that much I can confirm for the doubtful public, but... I mean, you've just introduced me to the thing, so I can't be _too_ trustful of it. It was _created by Dr. Eggman_."

"Well then, Eggman must've made a wonderful design flaw, because Star's had plenty of opportunities to blast us to pieces and has been nothing but gentle," retorted Paint.

"Then I hope that continues," said Morris, rather sternly and without ceding any greater degree of trust.

There wasn't a good way to respond other than a timid "Bye, Morris" from both of the group who could speak, so Paint and Arrowhead awkwardly walked away as Morris closed his door.

"It's okay, Star," Paint told her friend confidently, "we'll find something to do with you soon."

She only hoped it was something good. She hoped Star would survive whatever happened.


	15. Chapter 15

When the three friends had left Morris' property, they continued uneasily back into the core of the village. However, their journey inward would again be halted: Jewel's head emerged from the same tree as it had that morning. He gazed up at Star in wonderment.

"Whoa! Where'd you find that?" he gasped.

"Jewel, why aren't you scared of it?" Paint playfully prodded, turning to Star every few seconds while mocking a grimace of terror. "It's a deadly, heartless piece of machinery, created by" - and she pointed the Doctor's name out - "Dr. Eggman!"

Star looked sad and betrayed, so Paint broke her facade and insisted to the poor robot, "It's okay! I was just kidding. I still love my little robot." Star brightened up and giggled.

Jewel's question still needed answering, so she obliged. "A couple miles past the fishing river; I'd guess you know where that is."

"Yeah."

Paint continued. "It came to us, scared to its wit's end. Turns out Dr. Eggman sticks explosives in his robots' heads as a looming threat in case they misbehave. This little one had indeed misbehaved - by getting lost - yet _being_ lost must've staved off the reach of the signal of Dr. Eggman's controls. So we took the explosives out and made it all better!" Paint patted Star affectionately. Arrowhead stood still, a little uncomfortable.

"I didn't know robots _got_ scared," Jewel pondered aloud.

"Neither did we. Maybe it's supposed to 'keep them in line', but it sure doesn't feel good on their end."

"Oh, should've asked earlier: does it have a name?"

"Star!" Paint replied proudly. "And it picked its name itself, when Arrow and I asked it what it felt like. It didn't have any specific name beforehand, and I don't think Eggman gives names to any of his individual children."

"'Star', haha! I like it!" exclaimed Jewel. "What are you gonna do with it tonight? I don't think anyone here's gonna be too happy to see it - although Morris seems alright."

"Don't remind us..." Paint muttered, wincing at the town's poor track record of openness.

"Well, it can't stay at my house," Arrowhead stated with a staunchness of authority. Sensing Paint's preparations for puppy-dog eyes and the like, he wavered a little. "At least not yet."

Paint affirmed, "Star and I can sleep outside." It would be like a sleepover! She didn't even think that in a cynical way; she'd never slept next to Star before.

"That sounds cool! I hope you find a way to keep Star around longer!" said Jewel. He shrunk back into the widening scraps of darkness; he needed to go home, or maybe meet with Max one more time that night. She understood.

"We will!" she confirmed.

Turning now to her older friend, she posed a question. "Arrow, you want to sleep outside with us, too?"

He groaned. "I don't know if I can. At least let me ask my parents if it's okay to sleep outside - just with you. They won't be pleased if they know about Star right now."

That sounded fair. "Sure; come right back!" she said.

He trotted off for his home. Paint geared up mentally for a few minutes of waiting outside and entertaining Star, when a less friendly face crept from the shadows. It was Max. Paint wasn't happy to see him, but he looked more curious than violent.

"Jeez, what's _that_ thing?" he muttered. He eyed Eggman's name, then made the unusual move of speaking with Paint without any explicit threat. "One of Dr. Eggman's creations, eh? Why isn't it splattering you into green and orange chunks, meat salad?"

She was willing to reply, but only with a certain degree of caution. "It's not violent, Max. Actually, it was scared when Arrow and I found it and saved its life, so it's become our friend now."

He looked with angled eyes at her, skeptical of her tale, but eventually seemed to decide that he didn't care about its veracity. The robot was not a threat, so he was uninterested in it. "Ah, so it's just a wimp. It's not worth my time any more than you're worth its time. Quit being such a drain, Paint, before it's too late." He swaggered off, muttering something about looking for the flighty Jewel.

When he was out of sight, Star beeped curiously at Paint.

"That's Max. He hates me, but he's more neutral toward you." Her explanation was largely devoid of positive affect, and Star took notice. It beeped at her, concerned.

"Thanks for your concern about me, Star, but you don't have to worry. I'm fine."

Middling, unsure whirs.

Paint stayed silent for a couple of minutes, just soaking up the first breaths of the warm night. Gentle breezes rolled through the trees, the villagers had all escaped to their respective dwellings by now, and there was a relaxing quiet in the slightly damp air. Star also relaxed, scoping its new home out curiously. Paint was happy for it - she really was - but was not in the mood to hold much of a conversation.

To break the silence, Arrowhead came bounding back. "My parents said it's okay! I mean, they were barely awake, and they've let me do things while they were barely awake before like weld without a mask or run some scissors over to my uncle - I really did test that, just to see if they were paying attention, haha - but they said yes!" He was carrying three pillows and the largest blanket around his house, which still wasn't of an impressive size.

But it was all satisfactory. "Cool," Paint said, visibly starting to lose energy because of the darkness. "Let's go to sleep now." She let out a deep, wide yawn.

He was fine with that. He motioned them over to a suitable nook in the crook of a couple of trees. Star lay down on its back, and Paint and Arrowhead curled up together beside it. She felt loved and protected by her two friends, and they felt the same. The blanket really was awful - Paint's and Arrowhead's feet poked out from underneath, and they couldn't have imagined how to distribute its real estate if Star had needed warmth - but it added to the air of protection, in a way, and for that Paint was happy as she drifted off into slumber. Star powered off, too, and Arrowhead joined his two pals. Light-years above them, actual "stars" as the term usually referred to took further watch over the three friends. And it was good - perhaps they would need all the guarding they could get.


	16. Chapter 16

Clouds, or something like them, enveloped Paint's body, infinitely thin strands of water snaking around her limbs and ensnaring her. Yet, as usual, it felt good. She was not being drenched - a feeling she did not like - but gently nourished. At the same time, her body's warmth seemed to make the water trails happy as well; they danced vibrantly and shimmered.

Widening her gaze to see all of her surroundings, she found herself looking at nothing but endless gray expanses. There seemed to be no Mobius below her to anchor the clouds with its gravity - not that there was an apparent "below", anyway. Directions and distance didn't matter here. While she was still able to introspect about it all somewhat, she was not anxious or scared at all. She was safe and felt loved endlessly by the universe. So this was what it was to be a plant in heaven.

Wait, she couldn't be dead, could she? What would have killed her? No, it felt like her consciousness was jumping erratically across events - except that there were no events. This was a dream. Paint realized the nature of her dreams from time to time, but she hadn't ever learned to control or willingly escape them, though she had read about the phenomenon of "lucid dreaming" in one of Arrowhead's parents' psychology books. She would just have to see what this dream held for her.

Perhaps thinking about the nature of the dream was enough to set it in motion for real. Two celestial bodies, both of them simultaneously colossal and familiar-sized, made themselves known off in the distance and started approaching her. One was yellow-orange and the other emerald green. It came to her immediately: these were her parents! Tails and Cosmo! Semblances of them, anyway. She couldn't make out any distinct outlines of them, but that didn't matter. She knew who they were supposed to be.

"Paaaaaaaiiiiinnnnt," they both whispered.

"Mom! Dad! It's really you! You're really here!" Sure, she wouldn't be seeing her mother in real life, nor her father anytime soon, but she had them here and she would cling to them as long as she could.

"Come here, Paint," she heard from them, more articulately.

She swam through the air, pushing aside water strands. Some of the bunches of them, when close enough, congealed into large balls of water. Raindrops. They fell in a single direction that Paint figured signified "down". Yet she herself did not fall. She continued straight on, accelerating on and on toward her parents. How distant were they? She would meet them soon.

"How far away are you?" she called out to them.

"630 kilometers! But it's okay; you're doing fine!" Tails cried back.

"How long will it take for me to meet you?"

"You'll be here in five minutes and 26 seconds!"

Paying no mind to the oddly specific totals, Paint reasoned it out. Five minutes and 26 seconds: 326 seconds. Her average speed - if the information her father mysteriously had access to was right - would be a little less than two kilometers a second. 315/163, to be more precise. Thinking for a bit, she realized 163 is a prime number, so that was the most reduced the fraction would get. Mental math: she hadn't had that in a dream in a while.

The distance didn't matter, she supposed; she could talk to them while huddled up against whichever one she collided with. Or could she? They already looked rather large off in the great expanse of cloud, and she was traveling so quickly... What would the impact do to her?

"Mom, what's gonna happen when I come in contact with you?"

"You'll wake up!" Cosmo sang sweetly.

Angst shot through her daughter. Why would they have to go? Why couldn't the dream just end and leave her back wherever she'd been before? That wouldn't be so painful.

"But I don't _want_ to wake up!" Paint cried out. "I want to stay with you longer! A few hours, perhaps - just to catch up on things! I haven't seen you since I was tiny, Mom! Would a few hours be too much?"

"It's okay, Paint," Tails tried to reassure. "We'll stay with you even after that."

Paint had a bitter taste in her mouth. That was a sour cliché out of the ending to a cheesy novel. They'd be gone until her brain found a way to conjure them up in a reverie once more. In that moment, she detested him for taunting her like that.

"No, you won't!" she screamed, hurtling ever faster toward them.

Cosmo spoke again. "Paint, we both love you, and we're proud of the lady you're growing up into. You have our love inside you."

Not appreciated.

She couldn't fight it, it seemed. She had to think of _something_ to make this bittersweet trip worth the lessened rest she was sure she would be getting as a result of the vividness of the dream, to be worth the little heartbreak. She picked a question. "Why'd you two name me 'Paint'?"

"Because you stain everything you touch." Her parents' gentle speech had taken on a demonic color. "Watercolor, acrylic, it doesn't matter. You get your colors on everything."

Paint was disgusted.

Her parents seemed to be queuing up whatever they used to speak for more speech, but a voice erupted that wasn't either of theirs: "Paint, I can't believe you!"

She was frightened now.

"Paint, I can't believe you! Paint, I can't believe you! Paint, I can't believe you!"

She was startled awake. Arrowhead's mother and father were standing over them, imposing in their displeasure.

"W-what?" she yawned, still adjusting to the light.

"I said I can't believe you!" Arrowhead's mother chastised. "Not only did you bring one of _Eggman's robots_ around here; you willfully let it near my son! It's always been a struggle to trust you, Paint, a real struggle, and this is why! Who knows what it might've done to him?! I don't care if you want to dance in danger, Paint, but don't rope anyone else into your antics!"

Paint saw that Arrowhead was standing near his parents, both embarrassed and deeply sad.

"Paint, why would you do this?!" his father continued.

"It's... it's our friend! It's not dangerous. It's nice, and it hasn't made any dangerous moves on either of us so far! Star, wake up and show them!"

Star began to boot up, rising from its stony slumber.

"You're _waking it up_?!" Arrowhead's mother screamed. "What's _wrong_ with you?! Do you want us all killed, Paint?!" She clutched her son fearfully.

"Mom, it really isn't-" the young toad tried to spit out.

"You don't _know_ that! It could _kill_ you at any time, Arrowhead! Do you want that?! Do you want to die?!"_  
_

Arrowhead's father had gotten a little calmer at hearing his son's attempted objection, but not much. "These things really are deadly, Paint. We should _all _leave it while we can." He grabbed Paint's hand, and Arrowhead's mother took that of her son. Both of the older, stockier toads started to run as best they could.

Star, however, had woken up, and it didn't understand. Seeing its two best friends being dragged away, it followed them, beeping angrily at Arrowhead's parents.

"IT'S COMING _AFTER US_!" Arrowhead's mother screamed, physically unable to raise her volume any higher.

Paint tried to reason with her. "It's scared! It thinks you're attacking us or dragging us off to eat us! It doesn't know who you are!"

Neither of Arrowhead's parents would have that; they kept on with their crusade in silence, and Star kept chasing them, enraged.

The spectacle had balled up attention of other villagers. Shrieks escaped from all around, and a few people were at their doors, gawping. This was bad. Luckily, none of them were running out and attacking Star - not yet, anyway.

Paint had an idea. It would be absolutely horrendous if it ran awry, and she couldn't plan it out with him out loud, but if it worked it would set this all to rest. And right then was the time for it. With her free hand, she grabbed Arrow's free hand and, with him, bolted in the opposite direction, towards Star.

Arrowhead's parents screamed out in terror and chased them, but they sprinted toward Star, determined to reach the robot first. Arrowhead clearly understood, as he kept pace surprisingly well. He wasn't as fast as her, of course, but what with being pulled, he did a fine job.

Star took notice of its two friends running toward it, and it beeped happily. However, it was less pleased about Arrowhead's parents, who were still hurtling in its direction.

Just a few more meters and... there! Paint and Arrowhead clung to Star's side, and it beeped affectionately.

Arrowhead's parents saw this, and they absentmindedly slowed their paces in disbelief. Star hissed at them as a threat not to hurt its two friends, or else. Paint feared that it was about to raise its gun, but no such gesture took place.

"See? It's not hurting us!" Paint cried out hoarsely.

The older toads were still out of breath and did not reply, but continued walking toward their son, his best friend, and the mysterious robot tag-along.

"Star, those are my parents!" Arrowhead corrected.

Star looked at Arrowhead and whirred in surprise, then greeted his parents in typical Star fashion.

"Good call, Arrow," whispered Paint. He smiled back.

"What... what are you?" wheezed Arrowhead's mother at the strange new arrival.

Paint stepped in on Star's behalf as usual. "You two were right: it _is_ one of Eggman's robots! But it really isn't violent. It loves us, and we love it back! Its name is 'Star', by the way - a name that _it picked_!" Now it was time for Star to be cute again for them, just to pad the deal. "Isn't that right, Star?" she asked. Whir, whir. Happy, happy.

"Can you... can you please just give Arrow back?" Arrowhead's mother rasped.

"Star, it's okay. I'm going with my parents now. I'll see you later!" Arrowhead told it. Paint saw that his parents had grimaced at the last of those three sentences.

Paint also noticed extraneous villagers losing interest, if only for the time being. Arrowhead was safe, and Paint was, too... or at least she wasn't causing trouble any more. This was a relief.

Star bid Arrow goodbye and turned receptively to its other best friend. She said, "They're spooked, that's all. You're a big, strong machine! They just want Arrow to be safe."

Star whirred a few times sadly. It didn't _want_ to be seen as a monster. It wanted to be seen as a friend.

The spectacle had flattened out, so Paint began to walk off back into the woods for some privacy, motioning for her robot pal to tag along. She wanted to talk, and she needed Star to listen.

"Listen, Star. Arrowhead and I love you with all our hearts. But you're one of Eggman's robots, and most people can't see past that. They see a giant red machine walking into the village, and they get scared - not only for themselves, but for Arrow, because they don't want him to get hurt.

"And remember: they don't like me, either. They've never accepted me a day in my life. My mom's not alive anymore, and my dad's all the way across the world; I've never met him. I just stumbled onto this village. It doesn't help that I'm a freak: half-plant and half-fox. That's weird, so in their eyes, it must be dangerous and cause for alarm.

"And it really is a strong, wide-ranging contempt for me. I mean... If I was actually starving I'm sure someone would feed me, but most of the time what I eat consists of sandwiches and stuff that Arrow brings me - that and whatever I find out in the forest. And I sleep outside in the elements most of the time. That's my life.

"But the main reason for that contempt, I think, is that I'm just always messing up. I can't... keep it together. In general. I try my best, but somehow I always manage to make everything worse than before I showed up. I've even gotten Arrow in real danger before - the most recent time was the day before yesterday, in fact. No one knew about that specific instance, but they _do_ associate me with that kind of screw-up in general. So when they see you and me with Arrowhead... I'm sure you understand. It's just another confirmation in their minds that I can't be trusted, that I don't deserve to be kept around. And on the other hand, being associated with me makes them more scared of _you_.

"It's not fair, Star. It's not fair. You deserve to be treated like the sweetheart you are. But that's just how it is for the time being."

Star gently hugged Paint, not wanting her to be upset. Even further, it let out some corrupted noises. They didn't make any sense in context, nor did they correspond to any signals Paint had learned from the robot beforehand. And they seemed unintentional, directionless.

Star was crying.


	17. Chapter 17

Paint was deeply moved by the robot's emotions. She hugged Star back to reassure it that she was fine. Star culled its flow of digital tears and beeped encouragingly at Paint. Today was a new day, and they were together! Star wanted Paint to enjoy it.

"I'm starving. Want to come with me while I find something to eat?"

Star accepted the offer and they descended into the woods. The robot was placid and quiet, looking around at their surroundings inquisitively.

Paint looked over at her friend and noticed the Eggman lettering on its body. It came to her that Star could be a deep source of information about Eggman - and she was curious, so why not? "Hey, Star, what's Eggman like?"

Star stopped in its tracks and marched forward, pointing at trees and shrubs and directing rude and coarse noises at them.

"Bossy, huh?"

Star whirred to confirm.

"What does he look like? You said before that he has a mustache..."

Star pointed at its own mustache region and then lightly rapped its hand on its torso.

"His mustache... it's steel?"

Star beeped. Negative.

"It's... Oh, it's red, like you! He has red hair!"

The robot craned its arm around to the top of its head, which was a difficult but eventually attainable reach, and beeped no. It then repeated its gesture affirming the color of Eggman's facial hair.

"Ohhhh, he's bald, but just his mustache is red."

Star confirmed.

"What else about him?"

Star thought for a second and came up with another fact about its creator. It reached its hand out a few feet in front of its belly - to mark distance, Paint figured - and waddled a little, then brought the hand inward and marched more confidently.

"He used to be chubby and slow, but not as much now? He lost weight?"

Whirs.

Huh. Paint had a pretty good picture of the doctor in her mind now.

"Do you know about how old he is?"

Star shrugged. Perhaps the robot did not understand age. It wouldn't have had many living specimens - if any at all - to glean such a concept from, and its siblings would have all stayed static in appearance. Actually, that last thought clued Paint into another question.

"Are there any... _other_ robots? On Eggman's level? Partners? Assistants, maybe?"

Star whirred excitedly. It wanted to tell her about them. But Star wasn't done. It pointed at Paint's ears, one and then the other. It scanned the ground for a bit, then picked up a dark-colored stone and showed it to her.

"It has pointy ears like mine, and... it's tiny?"

Star seemed to think she was partially right. It set its hand a foot or two above the ground and looked up at Paint.

"It's about that tall."

Star accepted this, but it was not done with the stone. It tapped the stone, determined to communicate to its friend it could not speak to natively.

"What else about this rock? The robot's... hard? It's... black?"

Yes, that was it! The second one.

"What's it like?" she asked Star.

It marched around like Eggman, but somehow more purposefully, and barked high-pitched squeals. Paint didn't like the sound. "I get it, Star!" She giggled, agitated. "It has a high-pitched, annoying voice, and it's bossy like Eggman. Ugh." Star stopped, pleased that she had understood.

Paint appreciated the descriptions nonetheless; really, she was in wonder at the robot's imaginative style of communication with her. However, this did nothing to assuage her mundane hunger.

"Star, let's keep going. There are some fruit trees not too far from here."

The robot obliged.

"So, that annoying black-colored robot is Dr. Eggman's henchman. Wh-"

Star interrupted her. It was still holding the black stone, but it picked up two others. Dr. Eggman had three assistants, it seemed.

"Walk while you talk."

Whir, whir. It did indeed want to describe the other two. While continuing on walking, Star raised its hand again to indicate heights: first at about its own height, then somewhere between that and the black robot's.

"Huh. Are their voices that dastardly, too?"

Star shrugged and imitated them. Its noises were more bearable, though also not something Paint would want to bask in for too long.

"They're not _also_ obnoxiously bossy, are they? That sounds terrible."

Negation.

"Ugh. So what do these three caballeros _do_? Do they have any real control over you or any of the other E-1030s?"

Again, negation.

However, Star wasn't done talking. Unprovoked by any of Paint's questions, it described the silly and haphazard relationships of Dr. Eggman to his three helpers. Aside from asking for clarification of Star's gestures at some points, Paint was mostly quiet. Star's enthusiasm for storytelling was very well inspirational; from what Paint had known about robots only two days prior, she never would have guessed that they could do such things or get so invested in them. And she was happy to be her friend's most loyal audience.

They eventually reached Paint's trees, where she helped herself to copious apples. While it was nice to have a full stomach, Paint was a little sad to be walking back to the village, as it represented an end, if only a temporary one, to her alone time with her best robot buddy. The village meant the "real world", and while she had to get back to speak with Arrowhead and clear everything up with the other villagers as necessary, she was nervous about the idea all the same.


	18. Chapter 18

Paint and Arrowhead re-entered their town to an unhappy, small crowd. It showed moderate to high levels of contempt; the townspeople seemed to be trying somewhat to hide this feeling - or holding it in reserve.

None of the crowd members were among those Paint counted as her allies: Arrowhead's parents and Morris were absent. Likewise, no one her age was around, either: no Arrowhead, no Jewel, even no Maxwell.

Instead, two of the adults stepped forward: Carol the Hyena - Jewel's mother - and someone Paint barely knew called Amin the Tuatara. Amin was a gardener whose carrots Paint had stolen when she was little and scarcely seen since. Paint didn't know Carol's occupation - some kind of artisan, she remembered. However, both of them were also on the town's small, inactive, and largely irrelevant, yet existent, police force. Accordingly, they both pulled lengths of thick, impenetrable rope from behind their backs.

Carol spoke to the two. "You are both under arrest."

"What for?!" protested Paint.

"Disturbing the peace," answered Carol matter-of-factly. "Place your hands behind your backs, both of you."

Paint could tell quickly enough that Star was scared; she saw it begin to raise its gun before interrupting the action: "Star, it's okay. Do what she says. We'll be fine."

Star forlornly whirred but obliged.

"Amin, take the girl. I'll do the robot," Carol commanded to her fellow officer.

"Okay," he grunted. He tied up Paint's hands and feet. Carol did the same of Star; her longer length of rope came in handy for the robot's much thicker limbs.

"Good riddance..." said a voice from the crowd as the two criminals were led away.

"Punish 'em good!" cried a more forceful one. "We can't be having this kind of nonsense every day!"

Star looked again at Paint, worried.

"Star, I said we'll be fine. Let's just go," she reassured it.

The march continued; they walked slowly on account of their ankle bindings. All they saw were disgusted onlookers until, after some time, they passed Jewel. He looked in horror at the spectacle, as well as at his own powerlessness to stop his mother. Paint smiled at him, which did little.

Not long after, they passed Maxwell. Paint was surprised to see a slight expression of concern on his face, but when he met her eyes definitively, he quickly retracted this in exchange for his trademark uncaring gruffness. He stared into the sky, surely at more useful things more worthy of his time.

Paint began to whisper to her friend: "Star, wh-"

"Quiet down, please," Amin instructed. Paint supposed it didn't make a difference anyway; the robot wouldn't have been able to gesture anything back.

The town jail was before them. It was a medium-sized stone building, unfriendly by nature. Carol held the door open for Amin to take control of both captives and lead them inside; she then shut it behind her. It was dark and dingy inside; there were four cells - two on each side of the single hallway - and an office in the back. The only light available came from barred, small, high-up windows in each cell.

Amin untied both of the prisoners' hands but left their feet bound. Carol took control of Star again and locked it in the first cell on the left, and Amin shut Paint inside the second one, adjacent to Star's.

A little exasperated, Carol said, "Amin, keep watch until you know they're on good behavior. I'm leaving; I want to get back to my son."

Amin grunted and obliged. He walked into the office and shut the door. Carol left the building.

After a few minutes of silence, Paint heard Star crying in its cell. She couldn't see the robot because of the solid stone walls separating them, but she reached a friendly arm out between her bars. Star did, too, and became quiet and content when their hands met. Paint was glad to comfort her friend, determined not to let it think this was its fault.

She considered suggesting that Star take a nap, but she knew she could do better.

"Want to hear a story while we wait for our trial?" she whispered.

A few faint whirs - as quiet as the robot could muster - crept over from the adjacent cell.

This would be a true story. Paint told it about the time two years ago when she had accidentally set a couple's house on fire while setting up candles on their windowsills to provide an unwanted romantic environment for them, then used a barrel of fermenting wine - the result of hard work, apparently - to put it out. Star giggled at the strange tale all the way through, encouraging Paint all the while that she was successfully distracting her friend from the harsh reality of confinement.

At one point, she peered through her cell bars into the office, whose door had opened. Amin looked at her and Star every so often, but didn't seem to mind that they were talking. He even grinned once at them, though most of his time was spent writing something down - notes for the trial, perhaps, or just a crossword puzzle to kill time until the event, given that he had to supervise them and couldn't return to his regular occupation.

When the story was long over and Paint had reassured Star that their trial would be quick and easy - after all, Arrowhead would come to their defense, and "disturbing the peace" didn't sound like a serious crime compared to what she'd gotten away with before - the robot went to sleep voluntarily. Paint whiled away the hours scratching word games and drawings of fantastical creatures into the dust on the floor with her finger and, after Amin eventually brought her dinner, sleeping in tandem with Star.

Her sleep was mostly dreamless, marked only by images of her and Arrowhead's fictional character Pomegranate the Sparrow Witch sparring with Tails and Cosmo over her; Paint was tied up completely, hanging above a bubbling cauldron. She did not worry, though; she knew her parents would come through. Most notably, they were more corporeal than in the previous night's dream: Tails looked like a real fox and Cosmo like the logical counterpart to him to make Paint. It only made her long more strongly to be with them, to hold them tightly and never let them slip through her arms.


	19. Chapter 19

Paint woke up to a rattling of her bars from the hallway. A sleepy Amin stood on the other side, clutching a bucket and some other things - she couldn't quite tell right away; her eyes hadn't adjusted.

It was mid-morning, though, and, fueled by the light streaming in, she felt energetic already, ready to take on the trial. However, her ankles had grown sore from the bindings. She'd made half-hearted efforts to take them off before, but nothing had worked.

"Hey, your trial's in an hour. You might want to wash up first." The bucket was full of sloshing water, and Amin was also holding a bar of soap, a towel, a comb, a toothbrush, and toothpaste - all cradled in the crook of his left arm.

"Uh... thanks, Amin." She got up and walked to the front of the cell, waiting for him to open it.

"Uh... would you mind staying by the wall? Just so I can make sure you don't leave, you know. When we have someone _dangerous_ in here, we make them stick their hands through the bars, just like this" - he gestured placing his wrists at bar-level - "and tie them there while we bring everything in. But, ah... I don't think that'll be needed now. All the same, though, I do need to really open the door to get this junk in, since the bucket, unlike plates and stuff, won't fit under the door."

"Say no more." She cooperated.

"Great," he replied, and so did he before locking the cell door once more and returning to the office.

Paint felt wonderful when it was done. The knots in her fur were gone, and perhaps a thoroughly clean Paint would make a better impression. It was a novel sensation, really, as she usually didn't have access to much more than rainwater to water herself down with.

Amin came back with a breakfast of... carrot cake. He and Paint both snickered at this. She realized she was thinking of the tuatara almost as an old... family friend: not among her friends in the truest sense, but oddly not of a foul rapport given the present situation.

"Wake your friend up," he said. "I'm not sure how much time robots need for their morning primping, but maybe you can talk to it or something. Moral support, y'know." He trudged off again.

"Sta-aaaar!" she cried into the other cell. "Prepare for battle, sleepyhead! Polish your armor, swig a pint of ale to get the blood angry, sacrifice a prisoner of war, smooch a handsome sir - or a lady, I dunno - and let's march! I can't do this alone!"

It had heard its name, at the very least. Paint heard the familiar sounds of the robot booting up to greet the new day. When it was fully awake, it reached its hand through the bars as though the routine had been carried on for months. Laughing, Paint did the same, and they grasped each other's hands for half a minute or so.

Star beeped good morning.

"Hey, Star, ready to go?"

Whir, whir, whir.

Paint called out to their captor, "Hey, when can we get out?"

He peered at an unseen clock. "It'll be a few minutes."

Immediately, however, Carol entered. "They're ready for you two," she stated. She had returned with two familiar cuts of rope; she handed one to Amin and each of them tied their old submissive party's hands after unlocking the cell doors - in front of them, this time.

Saying nothing, all four inside the building drained into the sparkling morning outdoors. They began and completed a walk to the town square, where most of the village's hundreds of residents were gathered. A few jeered at the arriving delinquents; most just looked eager, even effervescent, for the spectacle of a criminal case itself. Some had brought aged wooden crates or stools from home; others were fine standing. Perhaps this would not be lengthy.

The two officers led Paint and Star to a bench near the judge's podium. Star sat down gingerly, not wanting to break it, and succeeded. Together they waited for subsequent instruction.

Perusing the audience gathered, Paint picked out Arrowhead, her loyal intercessor, and his two parents. The youngest toad grinned worriedly at Paint. Accompanying the toads were Jewel and... Maxwell. Urgh, great. Morris was also present, however, appearing unusually sanitary.

Carol and Amin took their places on a second bench, as did two other officers. Court would soon commence.

The judge appeared from the crowd and stepped up to bat. She was Amethyst the Salamander, another adult Paint barely knew. She seemed young for a judge; her red, wet skin was lively and shimmering even while the judge herself was stern, albeit wanting of confidence. While the town had no formal leader, the judge was probably its foremost figurehead.

Amethyst spoke to the villagers. "People of Sunny Clearing, I present to you today the first criminal case of this year. It is surely one whose events you are aware of, and while they have not caused noticeable damage to property or livelihood so far, such is not the extent of the law's jurisdiction. This case concerns the safety of all of you, of the police force here, and of myself.

"As is customary - though it can be difficult to remember all of this what with how law-abiding a community we _usually_ are - I will begin this meeting by iterating the charges against the two defendants, Paint the Seedrian-Fox and Model E-1030, affectionately nicknamed 'Star'."

_Seedrian_. This was it. This was the formal name of Cosmo's species. While keeping up her stoic facade, Paint was giddy to finally hear a name for her mother's kind. How had Amethyst gotten it, though? From Morris, likely - but if so, why hadn't the old iguana told _Paint_ this? He'd had a lengthy enough chance. It made her wonder.

Amethyst continued. "Paint and E-1030, you are both charged with disturbing the peace. To summarize: Paint, you have brought a robot created by the legendary long-time terrorist Dr. Ivo Robotnik - better known as Dr. Eggman - into our village."

_Ivo_. Yuck. It sounded like a familiar, abbreviated name of a disease. Well, it fit the old doctor; Paint credited his parents with that much. The "Robotnik" part was strange in a different way: it seemed to reflect foresight of the Doctor's life goals - or had it stood as a self-fulfilling prophecy? Whatever its origins, it was similarly distasteful.

"And E-1030, not only have you terrified our community, but you continue to pose a danger because of your origins as a Robotnik creation and your fearsome apparent bodily capabilities for harm."

Star whimpered softly. "Sshh, it's okay," Paint reiterated.

"Without further ado," Amethyst announced, "we will now hear arguments from anyone who is interested in defending or attacking the two on trial."

"Yeah, I've got something, Judge," asserted an older man, who stood up. "Have you seen the _artillery_ on this thing? It's like something out of a cartoon, yet we're expected to tolerate it amongst our dearest friends and family? I don't think so. Darn right my peace is disturbed!" He won cheers for his appeal, and Star looked down in sadness.

A woman near the front chimed in. "And that's just this single robot. Do with it what you will, but this is a recurring thing for the girl. This town has given her nothing but hospitality, and for what? She's done nothing, _nothing_ her whole life but aggrieve us and put us in danger. It runs in her genes, honestly, and I'm sorry if it's not politically correct, but that's just not a good enough reason to let her prey on our generosity any longer. That's the truth. Hmph." More applause. Paint looked down in anger to complement her co-defendant.

Arrowhead was sweating in discomfort and timidly spoke up. "Excuse me, but I object!"

The cheering softened, and all eyes were on him, a good number of them scornful.

"Paint doesn't get hospitality at _all_! She doesn't even have a _home_! I mean, occasionally my..." He stopped, not wanting to implicate his parents in harboring the stigmatized girl. His point, however, remained unfinished. "Er, she sleeps on _roofs _sometimes!"

"Yeah, don't remind us!" someone shouted.

"It's because she has to! There's nowhere else to! Well, other than two nights ago, when we slept outside together."

Someone whistled, and a few laughed. Even Paint giggled through the tension.

Arrowhead blushed, but he pressed on. "Th-that's not what I meant! I was just keeping her company, because no one else ever does! And- and Star was there, too, and it didn't make any dangerous moves on us" - he recalled Paint's defense from the next morning - "even though we would've been vulnerable to any kind of supposed attack all night long!"

A mirroring figure rose from the crowd to foil him, and he grimaced when he saw who it was. It was his mother, and she was not pleased to see her son arguing such a position.

"That's enough. Now it's _my_ turn to object, _Arrowhead_."


	20. Chapter 20

"Mom, what are you doing?" he pleaded.

She ignored him. "Yes, I'm objecting now. I'm objecting to my son's innocent - almost admirable - but immature defense of the girl and the robot. I want them both gone as soon as you can make that happen, Amethyst. I don't think I ever want them back in my son's life. And really" - she hint-hinted this at him - "he ought to be grateful to me for defending him."

"You're _not_ defending me!" he protested. "You don't care what I think!"

"I'm defending your safety, Arrowhead. Or do you want me to just finish loving you and discard you like an empty soda can?"

"What I _want_ is for you to accept that I can take care of my own safety better than you think!"

"Better than your own mother?! Oh, I'd love to hear this one, Arrowhead. In fact, I'd like it in writing."

Amethyst quietly interjected, "Is this relevant to the proper plans for the two defendants? I'm sure you can adjourn this matter until you're at ho-"

"Oh, it's relevant all right," said Arrowhead's mother. "It's relevant because my son may as well learn now that his well-being is more important than his blind, doormat-like deference to this vixen and the demon she's corralled into our midst."

"My well-being is _because_ of Paint, Mom! I'm _happy_ when I'm with her! She listens to me and respects what I feel! She doesn't complain when I get too hung up on what I've read in books - well, maybe a little, but only in a friendly way! I'm glad we found each other!"

Paint blushed thickly, and she saw that Jewel - seemingly Star, even - was grinning. Maxwell only looked disillusioned; he hadn't realized how connected Arrowhead was to her and was too bewildered to emote any more.

"And Star, too!" he went on. "Paint was scared of it at first, but she was brave enough to operate on it anyway because it was in need, and it worked! I doubted that it would even stick around once we solved its problem, but it's become a wonderful friend! It has... _emotions_! Real ones! I was too afraid - I decided we should just abandon it once we figured out what was going on - but she didn't budge! They... I _love_ both of them, and I'm not ashamed of that!"

Paint was overcome with pride for him.

Some in the crowd appeared to question their own judgments, chatting quietly about whether the little toad might not have a point, and Arrowhead's mother took note. Whittling her argument carefully to secure a win, she said, "Tell me more about this 'operation'. Tell me what the girl did to this hulking metal beast that caused it to convince you it 'loves' you, that it 'feels' things."

He nervously shifted from leg to leg. "Well, as Star told her, Dr. Eggman had stuck explosives inside its head that it couldn't remove. He does that to all his robots, or at least most of them. He detonates them when the robots misbehave. Star had misbehaved, because it had gotten separated from its group, because its teammates didn't like it. But it had wandered off so far into the forest that Eggman's radar signals to whatever actually sets off the explosives couldn't reach. Eggman could reappear at any time, though, so Star was scared to death. I understand that now. I... I didn't then.

"So what happened is that she had it go to sleep, then opened up the back of its head and got rid of the explosives. When it woke up, it was overjoyed! I felt great seeing it."

"Arrowhead, where were you while Paint was doing this?" his mother said.

"She thought of that, too! She had me run way up the hill so I would be safe even... even if she wasn't. W-we were near a huge hill, by the way. You know, those ones miles east of here."

"Uh-huh. How did she know how large the explosion would've been?"

"Well, she... uh..."

"That's what I thought," said his mother, rather pleased. "And what became of the explosives?"

"I saw it from up on the slope! She climbed a giant tree - the tallest one around - and knotted the canister to it."

Paint tried to add an addendum about her use of her natural adhesive, but Carol silenced her. Arrowhead was clued in, though; he'd suspected this at the time. "Oh, and I saw her licking the little device all over, I think. That's what it looked like. Because of the slight stickiness of her spit, that helped it stay up! I bet it's still there now."

His mother was underwhelmed. "So instead of scaling this tree - which she's tried to pressure you into doing many, many times before; I know that for a fact - why didn't she dismantle the bomb right there? She's crafty enough; she could've found a way. And that would ensure it wouldn't ever blow up, which should be fine, considering she doesn't care about her life, right? Not that I blame her for that or anything..."

Arrowhead was again left without a response. He was angry at her for her callousness toward his friend, but he could not back this up with objectivity. His father, who had not ceded much trust to Star and had, at the least, been peeved at Paint, thought similarly: "Honey, are you sure there's a point to this?"

Icily, she shot back at him and to the audience, "Why, yes, there is a point. The point is that this girl's sense of morality - arguably, foresight as well - is more corrupted than her mud-puddle lineage. She abandons her possessive, nine-tailed form to don the guise of a well-meaning, hyperactive scamp. When we try to chase her down to put a stop to her misdeeds, she absorbs the water from our sweat and the carbon dioxide from our panting and ejects it as sugary sweetness and oxygen to turn us into piteous airheads.

"But you know what? I don't think Paint's latest escapade to bring _one of Dr. Eggman's robots_ into Sunny Clearing to accost us as it pleases and to idealize it into a being capable of morality is an act of 'disturbing the peace'. We don't _have_ peace with her around. We never have, and we never will while she remains among us. I only ask you all to stand by me and demand that we disturb the terror."

The crowd was dead silent, not counting a few chaotic claps. Paint and Arrowhead were not comforted by the display, though: perhaps Arrowhead's mother had won them over and it was simply not a time to rejoice with effusion. Arrowhead sat down and began to cry, and Star, though it did not attempt to tear through its bindings, stared at the older toad with a piercing hatred that chilled even Paint. Arrowhead's mother met Star's gaze and scowled in concert.

"Well," exhaled Amethyst, "that was passionate and informative. No one has yet challenged this woman's arguments; if they remain uncontested, I will proceed to the verdict."

No one spoke. Even Morris, whom Paint trusted as a figure of reason, albeit crudely presented reason, was too shaken to speak. What was there to say, really?

Amethyst shuffled a few paper documents at her podium and spoke up again. "These arguments reinforce, and in some areas expand, those that the police force prepared in basic fact-gathering. It is clear that you two have gathered quite a nasty reputation in the community, and I'm afraid that the arguments leveled against you on this day do not help your case. I am sorry about this.

"Paint the Seedrian-Fox and Model E-1030, your charges of disturbing the peace remain valid, and the punishment we have decided on will be applied. As the judge of Sunny Clearing, I sentence you, Paint, to permanent banishment from the village, extending to one mile beyond its city limits, and you, E-1030, to death."


	21. Chapter 21

The world slowed to a waifish crawl around Paint, and her heart plunged down its cavity with a silent thud. This was not real. She had hallucinated the recitation of Star's verdict. It could not be true.

Yet there everyone was, some of them staring at Star and Paint, some at Amethyst, and some at their own feet. Did they feel quiet pleasure at the result, or did they think the sentencing had gone too far? It didn't matter, really. The verdict was out, and popular opinion in either direction would not change it.

She could do nothing but sputter helplessly and loudly. "W-w-w-WHAAAAAT?!"

"I'm sorry if you don't like either of your sentences, Paint," Amethyst said, "but they are what we have decided on. There are other villages you can invade if you so desire, the nearest being Angelic Falls, 23 miles south of Sunny Clearing and 6 miles east. You will be returned to jail shortly so that anyone who wants to can visit and say goodbye for the remainder of today, and you will be escorted far away from here tomorrow morning."

Paint didn't care about her own sentence. "Star... DEATH?!"

"Tonight, E-1030 will be completely immobilized, and someone with expertise in electronics will open up its head and disconnect the power supply to its body. From there, its central processor will be removed and that, along with anything else containing potentially dangerous data, will be melted so that nothing can be recovered. It is likely that most of E-1030's body will be put to good use in household appliances and other projects for the community."

Star writhed violently against its ties, trying to escape, but Carol firmly held its gun arm such that it was pointed away from any and all villagers and gripped its body with her arms and legs, while Amin tied it firmly to its bench and to a tree a few feet away so that it could not move beyond pathetic shaking. Amin and Carol returned to their seats, and Star sobbed pitifully, also beeping in a sickly familiar way to Paint - it was calling for her.

Paint went ballistic at seeing her friend treated like this. She lunged for Star, hugging it tightly as best she could with her hands bound.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" she screamed. Her passion had given her a cause bigger than herself. "KILL _ME_ INSTEAD! YOU CAN DO IT; YOU CAN SWITCH THE SENTENCES!"

Carol pulled her away from the robot roughly and sat her back down, and Amin tied her to the seat in a similar manner. It was like a sick, demented version of her bindings from her dream: she would not be saved. Star, more accurately, would not be saved.

Neither of the officers spoke, but Arrowhead cried out, "Paint, what are you talking about?!"

"STAR DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG! IT HAS A KIND SOUL! IT JUST WANTS TO BE A FRIEND!" With that, she collapsed into tears like Star had. The robot continued to whimper aimlessly, in endlessly vain hope of escaping the day alive and of Paint getting to stay with her friends in Sunny Clearing.

Amidst the dull, mostly uncomfortable murmurs of the crowd, an unexpected voice tolled out above them all. "Are you sure this is necessary?" asked Maxwell the Firefly to Amethyst the Salamander. "Star's a useless wimp, and Paint knows that."

A woman in the audience stood up crossly. "Aren't you the boy who used to bully my son?"

"Yeah, and I stand by that! Your son's a wimp, too, who needs to learn how to use his fists for something beyond kneading pizza dough. I know one when I see one. But even _he_ could beat up Star if he tried, because Star wouldn't put up a fight."

"What are you saying, Mark?" said Amethyst, stoically interested in the young firefly's qualm.

"It's 'Max', and I'm saying that I can vouch that Star isn't dangerous, and if you let it live, I won't have to listen to Paint whining for the rest of today or whenever she grows enough brains to find her way back. I... I want you to cancel the sentencing, if there's a way to do that. Ah, y'know what, Paint's too."

Amethyst wasn't sure what to think. "I appreciate your conviction, Max, but I-"

"I also object," stated Morris stormily. "I've watched Star with its friends including Paint, of course - at times when they would've been completely vulnerable to it and yet it's shown nothing but kindness to them. I've also seen it meet someone new who'd had no part in saving its life, and it was as friendly as could be. Even when I was openly doubtful - right in front of it - that it was safe and that I'd support keeping it around, it was nice to me. I'd never thought it was possible for a creature made of cold metal plating and circuits to have such strong emotions and show so much kindness, but Paint did all along. She convinced Arrowhead, and she's convinced me. I think we should listen to her more often, and we can't do that if she's gone. So I steadfastly join Max in support of waving Paint's and Star's sentences, and I encourage you all to join us."

Paint was looking up at the iguana in wonder, but mainly at Maxwell. Was this really happening?

Claps and low cheers squeaked out of the gathered crowd in support. Maxwell's opinion as a tough kid mattered somewhat, but Morris was well-respected. He was looked up to as an informal figurehead of knowledge and reasoning, and perhaps this was all they needed.

Amethyst was jarred by the display, and she cleared her throat before speaking to the audience again. "This is strongly unorthodox, but in the wake of this new information from these sources and the apparent presence of support for the release of these two, I'd like to call a vote. Please raise your hand if you would like them to be released rather than subjected to the sentences specified."

Paint gasped in silence as the clear majority of hands in the audience stood up. Some shot up right away, and others took a few seconds to blossom. Barring a few stubborn hands like that of Arrowhead's mother, Sunny Clearing was in clear favor of letting Star live and Paint stay.

Amethyst grinned and announced, "Then with that, I take pleasure in voiding these sentences. Paint and Star, you will both promptly be set free and, if you stay on good behavior as we expect of all of our citizens, allowed to stay in Sunny Clearing as long as you like. Court is now dismissed." There was no gavel or other formal object of finality, but when the judge stepped down - even a new, young judge like Amethyst - that was all anyone needed.

A few villagers cheered as most of them shuffled out, ready to get their jobs for the day underway; it was about noon already. Amin and Carol untied their captives, who each hugged them. Carol resisted the affection, but she whispered to Paint, "I'm as surprised as you are, but good for you, Paint. You too, Star."

It truly was wonderful. Paint would still be leaving town before too long to begin her quest to find her father, but she would do it willingly, after proper goodbyes, and - most importantly - with Star, if it so chose.

Maxwell approached her, a dismissive swagger emanating from him. "You're still a loser, Paint, and I still don't like you. And Star's still a wimp. But like I said, whatever keeps your whining to a minimum is fine by me. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm skedaddling for more useful tasks before the mushy emotional fireworks start. Gotta go fast, amirite?" And he did leave.

"Love you too, Max!" she shouted. He briefly looked back, grinning awkwardly, as he walked away.


	22. Chapter 22

Paint would not be alone for long. With hangdog faces, Morris and Jewel lumbered over to her.

"Paint," Morris said, "I'm glad it turned out this way, but, er... I'm- I'm sorry I didn't speak up earlier. I didn't know what kind of sentencing they'd come up with, at first. That was just obscene. And when Arrowhead's mother started hammering nails in, I... just wasn't able to respond. I don't know what it is with that woman."

"Me, too! I didn't speak up at _all_!" cried Jewel. "Maybe I was just scared of kickback from Max, but then... wow. I never saw that coming."

"He's not so bad," Paint replied. "And I'm not mad at either of you! I mean, it's not often that we have one of these debates, so they can be unsettling, I'm sure, and there wasn't really much to say that you hadn't. I'm just glad you wanted to say hey. Soooooo..." - her wry grin came back - "hey, guys!"

"So what are you gonna do now?" asked Jewel. "I mean, I wouldn't say you're loved now, but much more so."

She cheerily replied, "I'm gonna look for my dad! I mean, hey, what better way to celebrate the right to stay here forever than by leaving, right?"

Jewel didn't understand. "Your dad...? What? Isn't he...?"

Morris filled him in. "That's right. Apparently no one told her before me two days ago that her father's still alive. But he's nowhere around here; that's for sure. In fact, he lives clean on the other side of Mobius. I support Paint, but, heh, that'll be quite a quest."

"Paint, that's wonderful!" Jewel cheered. "I wish you'd told me about this before."

"Uh, yeah... I haven't really informed anyone. Arrowhead and Star know, but I think that's it. Actually, I might've let you in on it, but you had... other obligations."

Jewel bristled, remembering Maxwell's influence. "Right... So what do you know about him?"

"Well, his name is 'Miles Prower' - that's it, right, Morris?" Morris nodded, so Paint continued. "But he goes by 'Tails' on account of having two tails, like I do. He's an accomplished engineer of some sort, and apparently he's famous in that part of the world for having defeat-"

"For being one of the best engineers ever seen," Morris interrupted. "He builds all kinds of junk."

"I'd love to meet him someday," Jewel dreamed aloud. "Sunny Clearing is swell, but I feel a little cramped sometimes, and... wow, 'Paint's father' - the idea of that attracts me. Hey, uh... is your mother also... ah..."

"No, she's passed away," said Paint somberly. "Meeting her would've truly been something else."

"She was an amazing girl," Morris affirmed.

"So, anyway..." - Jewel wanted to move on, and Morris appeared thankful for this - "when do you think you'll be clearing out for good, Paint?"

"In a few days, I guess. I'll need to decide on a general route and say a few goodbyes - including to you two, obviously."

"Paint, ah, I can tell you the specifics of where your father lives and help you plan," Morris suggested. "Visit me tonight, I think."

"Will do; thanks!" said Paint. "There are a couple of people I need to speak with in the meantime, though; I'm sure you understand."

They both did: Paint had two more friends in the village with whom she had not yet regrouped after court dismissal. She made a quick scan of the area for them both; Star was playing catch with a couple of small children, but Arrowhead was nowhere in sight. Hmm, this was problematic.

"Er, I don't mean to ruin the artistic effect of my own vagueness, but have either of you seen Arrow?" she asked.

Jewel glowered. "His mom marched him off, with his dad trailing behind, right as everyone was getting ready to leave. I didn't like the look of it."

"Why isn't she letting him up?" Paint sighed. "I feel more sorry for him regarding her than I do, y'know, myself."

"Unfortunately, Paint, I think it's you," stated Morris. "She's just not done with you, and she's not happy about her son sticking by your side. It's pretty awful."

"Maybe I can mend it. He deserves to be happy, and... so does she. I think I _will_ seek them out anyway. Thanks for coming by, guys."

"You know it, Paint!" Jewel exclaimed.

"Thank _you_ for being, er, remarkably understanding," muttered Morris, and both left for their homes.

"Star! Wanna come with me to say hi to Arrow?" she shouted to her other companion.

Star beeped at her to wait before seemingly asking its new young friends if it was okay to leave. "Go ahead, Star, but come back later!" one of them instructed. "You're not done here!" Star whirred something back at them before following Paint.

"Star, what do you think about meeting Arrow's mom up close?" she suggested.

Star hissed. It did not like the woman, having every reason not to, but Paint wanted to press further.

"No dramatic chases; no rope bindings; no justice system. Just to be nice and convince her you're a good little robot. You know, seeing as you'll be living in the same town for a while. Please, Star?"

The robot faltered before whirring a few times in acceptance. It wasn't comfortable with the prospect, but for Paint, it would do it.

"Wonderful!" She reached up and rubbed its head affectionately as they set off for the toads' den. Star giggled before doing the same to her. Its cold metal hand was notably gentle.


	23. Chapter 23

"I think you should both leave."

"Honey, I really think you're being unreasonable," opined Arrowhead's father.

"And I think you're wrong," she shot back. "I'm not the one trying to use a public consensus founded on jingoistic emotional wildfire to set my best buddy I met a few days ago up with a tea party with my other best buddy's mother."

"This isn't about that," Paint pleaded. "Please try to understand: Star just wants you to know it's not angry at you after everything that went on back there and, even if you're not ready to be friends now, Star is whenever you are."

Star beeped hopefully.

"Oh, isn't that nice. I'm not at the robot's mercy, or so you two say."

Paint sighed and tried an alternative: "Well, maybe you'll come around later. Can we talk to Arrowhead for a while?"

Arrowhead's mother thrust an unfocused glance upward, exasperated at the girl's persistence. This wasn't a hill she wanted to die on, so she asked her husband, "Honey, is there anything you have planned with him today?" Arrowhead's father shook his head, so his wife said, "He's all yours, Paint. Try to stay in the general vicinity so I can hear his screams."

Arrowhead had made ostensible efforts - though likely only that - to ride along with the adventure of a novel he was reading at the table he and Paint had had dinner at the other night, but he dropped the book and scurried over to Paint and Star, and they all left the hut.

Paint started right away. "Arrow, thanks for sticking up to me at the trial. I really mean it; no one, not even Morris, was able to stand up to your mom. I don't want to vilify her completely, because none of that was for anything but her caring so much about you, but it really says something that you were willing and able to defend me anyway. Thank you."

"Uh... don't mention it. She just doesn't get it, and I was doing what I could. But listen..." This was about something different. "I've been thinking. I know you're gonna be leaving for your dad soon. I'm not sure how long the quest will take or if it'll ever take you back here. And I want to come with you."

"W-what? This is my quest across the world to find my father, Arrow. That isn't what you mean, right?"

"It is," he curtly replied.

Paint was awed. "But... but we have a bit of time together anyway. That can be enough to get our friendship where we want it to remain and say farewell. I mean... you're immeasurably important to me, Arrow - more than I've ever been to you - but you have a whole life here."

"I don't, really. I haven't done anything important... ever; I've just sat on my butt and had words fed to me my whole life. And what with my mom and Star... I don't want to be in the middle of that. It's incredibly contentious. If there's some way I can convince them to let me go with you, I'm all for it, Paint. And I really mean that. I... don't want to leave you."

She couldn't expel a single word at this.

"And hey," he finished, "we're adventurers! We're Paint and Arrowhead! There's nothing we can't accomplish together: no hill we can't climb, no river we can't traverse, no pretentious existential debate we can't circumlocute our way out of! So we stick together!"

Star piped up, beeping excitedly at Paint without ceasing.

"Star... do you want to come, too?"

Star stopped immediately and politely exhaled a long whir.

"Oh, my. It looks like I won't be going this alone, then - if you can sap the approval out of your parents, anyway. Have you brought this up to them at all?"

"I don't know if this was a good decision, but I told them last night. My dad was surprisingly open - he seemed to think of the prospect as an extended nature hike. Of course, he does understand what it'll really entail, I think... But my mom - well, you know. She... wasn't."

"That's no good," said Paint. "I wonder if there's _anything_ Star and I can do to make one last good impression on her."

"I hope so."

"Well, first of all, because I forgot:" Paint started, and she hugged both of her companions long and hard.

A pause happened, and Arrowhead asked, "So what are we doing now?"

Paint took some time in silence to consider various possible pastimes to indulge, and one jumped out like an abandoned old friend. "Heeeeeyyyyy... remember the story we were in the middle of?"

"The one with the witch? Uh... 'Pomegranate the Sparrow'?"

"Correct! Let's write more of it. I'm, heheh, finally primed to continue... Oh, but Star doesn't know about the story. We've got to fill our buddy in."

"What is there to summarize?" he wondered to her.

In response, she recapped what little they had built up before for Star, and the robot whirred in understanding. She was fairly certain that it understood the difference between reality and fiction; this was nice, because she thought the idea of explaining this grueling.

With that out of the way, she had an offer for Star. It would represent one additional step in the robot truly becoming one of them, but she knew it could do it, having been quite taken with its rationale for, and explanation of, the name it had wanted for itself.

"Star, would you like to help write?"


	24. Chapter 24

_Pomegranate the Sparrow Witch was evil, and boy was she ever happy about it._

_Sparrows normally make for noble folk, but not Pomegranate. Her feathery coat of lustrous purple - by far the purest and most beautiful of the secondary colors - was but a facade for the wickedness within her. She relished her ability never to be tied down to anything or anyone and lack of any higher standard of morals to adhere to. Her heart was impenetrable._

_And so it was that her name would be the bearer of truth about her: like Pomegranate the Witch, pomegranate the fruit is typically seen alone, and for good reason: its dark, seedy core punishes those who take innocent bites._

_-By Paint the __Plant- _(it was crossed-out) _Seedrian-Fox and Arrowhead the Toad. Arrowhead's Table University Press. Printed in Sunny Clearing. All rights reserved._

_(Continued from before.) It was after eleven o'clock at night, and Pomegranate was bored. She descended from her nest and took to the breeze, which felt great as it nuzzled her wings affectionately. Flying does a body good._

_She looked over the evil, completely deadly forest while she flew, and she noticed several interesting and exotic species of mushroom with her keen bird eyes. They were from the genus _Clitocybe_, which are commonplace in deciduous, moderate-to-cold climates like hers, so she was not surprised._

_Gaining a feeling of warm love, which wanted to persist even in the darkness of night, from the wind and environment around her, Pomegranate reconsidered whether she really wanted to be bad. The world was extending a friendly, forgiving hand to her; why did she want to keep up the pretense of wrongdoing?_

_Because it kept her from pain, of course. That had been a silly thing to concern herself with for even a few seconds. To keep this peccadillo from proliferating, she scoured the inked forest floor for opportunities for evil. Her keen bird eyes would not fail her; one such opportunity leapt out in the form of a little coyote girl crying out for her father. "Please help, miss!" the girl whined. "My father and I were playing hide-and-seek, but now I can't find him! It feels like I've spent an eternity counting._

_"I know you're a witch, but you're not _too_ evil, are you? I'm not going to judge you for some silly exterior feature like that. I just want you to help me," the pup finished, tilting her relatively flat nose down in pleading._

_Pomegranate found it hard to resist the helpless girl. How could she refuse something so vulnerable?_

_Easily, of course. "Suuuuure, I'll find him! You just sit tight," Pomegranate cooed. She rose back above the treetops in genuine pursuit. It was not, however, honest pursuit: she would find the older coyote and lead him hopelessly far away. The cold night would separate the two forever. This would be fun._

_Perhaps this was, more than anything else, a way of learning about herself: just how far she would go. She didn't know if she liked what she saw._

_It was rather frightening, when she really looked at it._

_But it was destiny! Compassion was not in her blood. Determinism is a fact, and Pomegranate was but a passenger. Interested little in pontificating further, she fixed all of her attention on the father coyote. Her persistence would not go uncompensated: he appeared down in the thicket before her wings had taken her more than five miles._

_When she swooped down, he jolted in his place, his bushy tail flicking back and forth for a few seconds as coyotes' often do. "Whoa! You startled me," he said. "I'm looking for my daughter; have you seen her? She looks... just like me! Kind of. She's pretty and rather sociable, but surprisingly lacking of confidence sometimes. You'd recognize her right away."_

_"I _have_ seen her!" Pomegranate answered. "And I liked her, too. I can show you the way."_

_Like a good witch - to the extent that such a thing exists - she led him farther and farther off into the blackness. She leeched hope from him, sardonically pleased that his journey would end in nothing but disappointment and hopelessness. _Keep your distance, old man_, she thought._

_Perhaps he sensed this, because he asked her, "I hope you're not cruelly trying to betray me. And I hope this more for you than I do for myself."_

_Pomegranate realized that he was accepting being at her mercy. This aroused a trickling of guilt deep inside her. Her obligation to be a mean, scary witch came first... right?_

_Of course! Lowering herself to the father coyote's level of intelligence as she continued to secure his eternal abandonment of his daughter, she allowed herself the simple, perfunctory question: "What do you mean?"_

_"I mean," he replied with deliberation, "that I see something good inside you that you might not, and that you might not be willing to accept yet. I want more than life itself right now to find my little girl again, because she just wanted to play with me and us getting separated too far surely can't justify something like this. And I think you can give that to me, if you learn to stop concentrating on how evil you are and learn to truly look forward._

_"Please."_

Paint set the pencil down and stared at their work so far. Star's contribution - translated from Star-speak by Paint - closed off the day's work so far. It was a fitting stopping point for Arrowhead's contribution of the previous paragraph, and Paint's contribution of the paragraph before that, in the three friends' pattern of rotating: one paragraph each for as long as they wanted, starting with Paint, of course.

She liked it. They had set up some personality and depth to their character and established her heartless nature - well, she had tried to, anyway, and had felt a bit of pushback from the other two writers, but nothing too obstructive.

All the same, though, their work had brought them to sunset - understandable through the frequently arduous mechanic of translating Star's gestures and odd noises into prose that it liked, and through all three writers taking their time in deciding what they wanted to happen. The pencil had broken at one point, too, and a replacement had taken some rummaging to find.

She remembered that Morris had wanted to speak with her that night about her nearing journey, and maybe something more. It excited her - not only the promise of cogent traveling advice and information on Tails, but also the mystique of a nighttime meeting with a figure so reclusive and new to her yet full of rare knowledge.

She also realized more immediately, as had been the case before, that she and Arrowhead were hungry. Some kind of dinner would be a nice intermission.


	25. Chapter 25

"Alright, ready to go?" Paint asked.

"Sure." Arrowhead felt the tiny masses of a few crumbs on his face and scattered them. Not wanting to be left out, Star whirred yes.

They left Arrowhead's hut for the day's last trip. The cool night was invigorating somehow, even as the girl's bodily energy slowly dissipated for lack of sunlight. The moon gazed dispassionately, obscured by no clouds. The trees waved only frailly; no breeze was around to fan them further. More calm could not have been asked for.

"Arrow," Paint reiterated, "when do you think you'll pop your question again? You know... about coming with me."

"Tomorrow, maybe. I'd prefer to do it after using up all possible efforts to convince my mom that you and Star are safe."

"Right; don't remind me..."

The walk to Morris' house had seemed to take less time than they'd been used to, but there they were. Paint rapped on the door familiarly. A light was on - from earlier, or in preparation for her arrival - and visibly so from outside the door. The familiar foot-dragging of the owner greeted them.

He pulled it open quickly. "Oh... hi. Um... I don't want to be rude, you other two, but I only asked for Paint to come here..."

"They're coming, too," she said.

"Oh. Uh..." - he glanced at their faces, which were neutral but by which he was nevertheless convinced - "yeah, okay, come in."

They all sat down in their positions from the last time they were inside the house together; Star, the new addition, looked at them for guidance and joined its two comrades on the floor.

"Alright, now... First of all, I want to give you three some perspective so you know what you're getting into." From under his chair, he pulled out an old map and a thick, dusty book with two tiny slips of paper marking pages.

The map would be their first object of examination. Morris got off his chair and knelt in front of them, spreading the map on the ground. It was about two feet by three feet, oriented horizontally such that north was up to Paint, Arrowhead, and Star and down to Morris. A dot in the center-southwest of the map was marked "Sunny Clearing". Morris pointed to a small caret-like symbol about an inch - or five miles, according to the scale - north of Sunny Clearing.

"That's the volcano that blew up the other day, the one you and you visited" - he pointed at Paint and Arrowhead.

Paint picked out a wave of carats further east of Sunny Clearing than the volcano was north. "Star," she said to the robot, "this is where we met you!"

Star purred with interest.

Morris got their attention again. "Okay, you've got the local landmarks. And trust me: these may seem exotic to you, but they are _local_. This" - he waved his hand in an ellipse, motioning to the map as a whole - "is the district of Kattekara, of which you've explored only a small part." It was a jagged region, but shaped roughly like a rectangle, with its eastern border going slightly southwest-northeast rather than straight south-north.

"Kattekara is, of course, a district of..." - he opened the tome, which turned out to be an atlas, to its second tab - "Techokko Province." He pointed Kattekara out on the page; it was only one of hundreds of districts in Techokko, which covered most of the page and was shaped vaguely like an overweight seahorse.

"And finally... Techokko is one of the three provinces that cover the continent of Adagestli." He flipped to the first tab in the atlas and showed the three friends where the province lay on the southern third of the continent, which itself was only one of several that adorned Mobius.

He picked out another province on another continent. "_This_ is where your father and all those other kids live - er, well, they're not kids anymore. _This_ is where you're going."

"W-wow..." Arrowhead looked almost dizzy at the huge magnitude of their journey.

"What's the matter - geography escape your family's massive piles of worldly literature?" Morris chided.

"I mean... Those names sound familiar, but I guess I've just never thought much about how much..."

"Forgivable," Morris continued, "in a town that's so closed to everything both inside and outside its borders."

"I'm not about to give up," Paint responded to the revelation, "but this is going to involve ocean crossing, in addition to mind-boggling amounts of walking."

"Hey, it's good exercise! You'll come out looking like chiseled gods," Morris chuckled. Paint rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but, haha, in all seriousness, you'll have to find a port city and convince someone to boat you over there. Or scrounge up a boat yourselves - one that can support a hulking Eggman robot in addition to two kids, anyway."

Paint nudged Arrowhead. "Y'know what this means? We can add seafaring to our adventuring resumes! Piracy, even!"

"I don't know, Paint..."

Morris stepped in. "Listen. You can do this - all three of you. Heck, _I_ probably could if I had the will, even in my slightly below-average health."

They looked at him inquisitively.

"As I said, get to the coast as quickly as you can. Pick a port city and head straight for it. That's your best bet. Bring, er... hats for the blazing sun, coats for the frigid points - especially you, Arrowhead; you're cold-blooded, like me - water bottles for if you can't find natural bodies of water, snacks for if there's nothing around to forage or hunt for... Basically, this will be more of a trip than most anyone in this town has ever been or will ever go on, so be as prepared as you can. I recommend knapsacks.

"But yeah, I stand by what I've said. I've given you all a hard time before, but I know you can do it. Paint, your father is lucky to have a daughter like you - and boy, I don't think he'll hesitate to go nuts when he sees you - and you, in turn, are fortunate to have these two as friends."

Star chirped in approval and the other two grinned warmly.

"Do you feel ready to go?" Morris asked.

"As ever!" Paint yipped. Arrowhead nodded, and Star whirred in usual form.

"Good. And now I think it's as prudent a time as ever that I tell you something, Paint."


	26. Chapter 26

Morris sighed resignedly and spoke up. "Remember when you first came over here and I was telling you the story of your father?"

Uneasily, Paint said, "Yeah, what about it?"

"You might remember a name from back then: 'Metarex'. To refresh, they're the group of wrongdoers that your father and his friends saved the galaxy from. They had very, very empty hearts."

"Yeahhhh...?"

"You're one of them."

"I... I don't understand," Paint murmured. "For a while now you've been extolling how good a person I am, and regardless of whether I deserve-"

"No, no. I mean, you're _one of them_. It was revealed not long after their defeat that the Metarex were Seedrians, just like your mother. They underwent deliberate transformation to become more powerful and defend themselves in a war. And your grandfather, whose name was Lucas, was their leader. He orchestrated all of it. All of that... lives within you."

Paint sat still, staring at the ground. Weakly, she squeaked, "How... how do you know this?"

"I used to live in a more... civilized area. Actually, I can tell you the name: it was the city of Namosstok, one of the most populous on Mobius. A port city, in fact; you might visit it... B-but anyway, your father and his shipmates were all visiting; they'd been invited to a gigantic celebration a few days after the Metarex's defeat. They spoke all about it. Word got out, basically.

"And while I'm normally a strong proponent of an informed populace, this part I'm not so happy about: Word got out... here. And it was... my fault.

"Let me backtrack a little. It happened that I was already beginning a move out to Techokko Province; I'd been growing weary of the city life already, but when my best friend back there passed away, I knew it was time to leave. I spent my life savings on a reliable motorcycle, packed nothing - not even a jacket or food - and jetted off into the Techokko thicket. I was looking for any town I could find... but the darn thing broke down after a while so I had to do a great deal of aimless walking. Sunny Clearing was the first town I came across, and when I showed up, exhausted and a little, er, gaunt, everyone wanted to know where I'd come from, what I knew of the outside world.

"So I told them a few things. Mostly it was innocuous information, but it included the story of the Metarex. It included that they had been docile, plant-like creatures before their demonic transformation, and it included a basic outline of what they looked like. Y'know... based on a picture of your mother that'd been cycling through the papers.

"You may have heard this, but I found you when your seed made it to Mobius. You were helpless, so I had no choice but to bring you back. At first the town seemed optimistic to raise the new baby together, but when they realized how much you matched my description of Seedrians... I'm... sure you get the picture."

Arrowhead demanded, "You mean _that_'s why the adults in this town hate Paint so much? It's their prejudice against descendants of the Metarex?"

"Well, mostly," Morris amended. "Paint, I'm sure you know you've always been a bit of a rascal. Stealing food, getting your friend here into trouble, writing creepy limericks and sharing them with children, breaking other people's property - on accident, I know, but still... Er, the genetic debacle was the main part of it, but when they saw you misbehaving, it only confirmed their suspicions. You were destined to be, at worst, a complete sociopath and, at best, no one they'd want around if they could help it.

"But they... they were wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

It was all quiet, the stupor lasting for five minutes at least, until Paint spoke in staccato. "I'm... a Metarex. I'm programmed for... cruelty. I-it's in my blood."

Arrowhead wouldn't have it. "Paint, that's not true! You've never had an _evil_ moment in your life as long as I've known you! Star owes its life to your kindness!"

Star whirred resoundingly, not about to let her despair.

Flatly and after more time, Paint replied, "I just don't know anymore. I'd never thought I'd be able to blame myself on anything at all like this."

Arrowhead was ready to cry. "P-Paint... please, don't..."

She silenced him. "Arrow. It's... it's okay. Morris, I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault. You didn't know what would happen."

Not ready to accept this, Morris ventured, "Paint, are you sure you're oka-"

"No, I'm not okay!" She was sobbing, crumbling down in frustration at her ugly heritage. "I'm a Metarex! I've been optimistic before, but I'm never going to get better! My mom's species _is_ why I can never do anything right, why I can never just be good! Whoever said plants are serene needs to drop dead. I don't want anyone near me! I don't want anyone to be around for me to hurt any longer! It's a good thing I'm leaving - I can do that right now and never come back!" But she did not; she buried her face in the fronds above her knees and continued to sob hopelessly.

Arrowhead and Morris were distressed, but did not know how to comfort her or dissuade her from her fatalist nightmare. Star, however, took action. It beeped authoritatively at Paint; it was important that she listen. She peeked one dewy eye out at the robot, a grain of her curiosity emerging above her crushing waves of sorrow.

Star ratcheted its arm up to point at itself, then made its trademark Eggman gesture before emitting a disapproving beep. It patiently waited for her to timidly nod that she had understood, then it pointed at her and stood still, raising its arms as far as they would reach and fanning them out with increased elevation. Then followed the same beep. Paint's eyes stayed wide open and attentive.

Paint was not fit to interpret for herself - or perhaps she understood but was too afraid to believe - so Arrowhead made the atypical move of stepping in to translate. "Paint," he soothed, "that last gesture was supposed to be a tree - some general kind of plant. Star is saying that just like how it isn't Eggman, you aren't the Metarex."

To affirm, Star mimed arbitrary acts of violence - it didn't know the details of the Metarex's conquest style, but that didn't matter here - and reformed the tree gesture. No sound followed; Star was equating the two. To finish the contrast, it pointed lovingly at Paint and then at its own head.

Arrowhead finished: "The Metarex were violent, but you aren't, and Star knows that. In fact, you've done the exact opposite of violence by taking the explosives out of Star's head, which I wasn't brave enough to. Star adores you, and it doesn't believe you have any chance of being truly bad."

She had finally absorbed it. She squeezed Star like a softer and much smaller plush toy and wept onto its cool, metal hull. It purred in loving response.

Morris was awed by Star's massively comforting effect on her. He had never been one for emotional outreaching, but the robot had done perhaps the most effective, artfully simple job possible.

He grunted as he raised himself from the ground and joined in the embrace.

"Thank you, Star," he whispered. "Thank you so much."


	27. Chapter 27

"I still think it's oddly cool of your mom to let Star and me sleep inside, Arrow," whispered Paint against the silence of the outdoors and of Arrowhead's parents' slumber.

"Well, I don't think you should get too confident," he added. "It was either this or have us all sleep outside, where she wouldn't be able to hear us. Plus, she's loosening her grip a little seeing as how, you know, at the very least _you're _leaving town soon." His round, grey-brown face might have been eerie, illuminated unnaturally by the candlelight as it was, except that Paint had no room for fear right then.

"Still... Anyway, when we _do_ go, which way do you want to take to the ocean? There are a lot of different port cities that might be able to accommodate us; we can pick whichever we like. Ooh, 'Keldaghak' - if I'm pronouncing it right - sounds ancient and cryptic!"

"Why not just Namosstok? We know that's a decently reputable place; Morris just got tired of it," he reasoned.

"Hungering for the big-city life, eh, Arrow? You don't have to hide that; So am I! Let's do it. Star, you game?"

Star whirred excitedly, not seeming to care that its wide, blocky body was comical in barely fitting under the large blanket that extended across and to the side of Arrowhead's bed. The comforter was rarely used and often forgotten about, but Star had seen it folded up and wanted to be under the thing's embrace just like its friends.

"Please quiet down, both of you..." Arrowhead whispered with some anxiety.

"My mistake. Anyway, yeah, that works. I guess it makes sense to use a large municipality - you know, a larger pool of boaters to offer us their generosity. I hope. Then we can ask for a ride to my dad's continent, which is called... uh... 'Freedom'!"

"Hey, they use actual Mobian words for most of the places over there instead of our ancient-language mumbo-jumbo," Arrowhead noted. Sure enough, lots of the place names on Freedom seemed to convey information about how exotic and interesting they could be.

"Hey, yeah! Look at this one: 'Ice Paradise'. Some kind of skiing resort, I bet - hey, most people wouldn't be that adventurous, but whatever brings in the dough, right? And it's so close to this 'Sky Canyon'; weird..."

"I bet your dad's been to those places." Arrowhead was getting intrigued, too, seemingly beyond the possibility for scientific observations.

"Heck yeah, I bet my dad and his friends chase Eggman around these places all the time! I hope they'll show us around sometime - maybe we can contribute to the Egg-beating." For a long time without speaking, all three of them pored over the map Morris had given them, night-dreaming wildly of exploring these magical lands.

Eventually, with a thick, enveloping yawn, Paint asked him, "I'm tired. Want to postpone our speculation - as engrossing as it is - until tomorrow?" The blanket was becoming quite inviting, like a finish line to one of many exhausting races with one's family cheering one on at the other side. It had been a long and eventful day for all parties present; Paint could hardly believe the village's clocks had not even made two complete turns during all of it.

"I think so," he replied, and they both crept out and brushed their teeth. Even Star looked beat, if for no other reason than that it was bored and knew its friends would be going to sleep, so it would have no reason to stay up later.

When they had returned to bed, Paint bid her two companions a good night, to which they responded likewise, and her journey into dreamland was rapid and well-oiled.

This one, atypically, did not appear to be concerned with her father. Paint was... a giant tree of some kind, or at least a giant tree of some kind was the protagonist of the dream. She was planted on a snowy hillside along with hundreds of other trees - sequoias, most of them. It was early in the morning; the sky burned violet and scarlet above the drab landscape. Her hill-mates were all barren of leaf-coats, as was she.

Paint could not move, but that didn't register for panic or discomfort; it was like a fish reasoning out that it could not roll a bowling ball while blissfully whipping along with its school. However, the fact dawned on her, as did the sun on the seasonally embarrassed forest canopy, that she was a little bored. How long would she be here with no mouth or other communication organs with which to reach out to the other trees?

As if to soothe her from these thoughts, Cosmo flitted up from somewhere far below. She was a golden-white, shimmering fairy-like thing, not closely resembling either real Paint or dream Paint, and yet dream Paint knew at once who she was.

"My child, I am concerned," expressed Cosmo in her angelic, resonant voice. "I do not want you to despair."

_I'm not despairing_, Paint insisted telepathically - or was she actually saying it? Sometimes this was hard to discern.

"Yes, you are. You are still afraid that the terrible actions of my family live on in you, just waiting with bated breath for an opportunity to pounce and render wrong the world."

_I don't think so... Okay, maybe a little. So what? Care to correct me, Mom?_

"They were corrupted by outside forces. They were weak. You are not."

_Hey, me seeing things means I have something like eyes here, right? How do I roll them? Or is that not how this works?_

"You have a fire inside you that I never did. Perhaps it comes from your father."

_I'm sure he's great..._

"There are reasons I loved him, of course. There are reasons we decided to let our passions go and-"

_Ooooookay, I think I've heard enough._

"Paint, all morning I have been hearing resistance to you wanting to be happy. Why is that?"

_I'm plenty happy..._ _I know I am..._

Cosmo emitted further sound, but its semantic value was obscured by loud, crashing noises. Paint was disoriented and primally frightened, while her mother did not give any indication of noticing.

_What the-_

Paint jolted awake, as did Arrowhead and both of his parents. Star had been booted awake by the noises, too, and was walking outside to pioneer an investigation. It was sometime in the morning, and Paint had no clue what was going on.

Screams pierced through the warm air, and Paint knew at once that something was horribly wrong. She sprang up and bolted outside, trailed closely by Arrowhead.

His parents were not far behind, and before she had gotten far, Paint heard his mother's terrified gasp: "Oh, no. Please, no..." The plea was, for once, not directed at her or Star, but at what else waited outside, past Star's grasp.


	28. Chapter 28

Two E-1030s, Star's siblings, had planted themselves stubbornly within the town's boundaries. They were indistinguishable from Star besides being slightly more dirty and not visibly taking the villagers' side. They were firing their guns all around while standing in place, not hitting anyone or ostensibly attempting to, but causing great public fear nonetheless.

"Star... are those your two old 'friends' that abandoned you way back when?" Arrowhead gasped. He had never seen any of Eggman's other robots and had never expected to so soon. It was a pity that they couldn't have been more friendly, but then again, Star did seem to be an anomaly.

Star whirred in affirmation, distracted by the robots' menacing presence.

Other villagers had shown up in mixed flavors of curiosity. Paint saw Morris among them; he looked quizzically between the two new robot arrivals and Star, and when he caught Paint's eye, he jogged over to Arrowhead's hut.

One of the two other E-1030s launched a quick, sporadic series of noises in Star's direction, and Star responded in kind. Apparently this was the language with which E-1030s communicated amongst themselves; regrettably, with no body language to supplement the garbling, Paint had no idea what it meant.

The two parties of robots remained squared off and unsympathetic to each other, so Paint asked, "Star, what do those two want?"

Star hesitated, unsure whether it would be wise to divert its glare from its two adversaries, but it decided to go ahead and gesture an explanation: they were looking for some kind of object - a valuable rock or gemstone, maybe - and were demanding any information anyone knew on it.

Paint whispered this guess to Morris, and he asked brazenly out loud, "Are you looking for Chaos Emeralds?"

Clearly that phrase was a trigger to them, as they rushed over to Morris and, before he could resist, angrily grabbed his upper arms and dragged him back to their starting point.

"HEY!" Paint screeched. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH HIM?!" She sprinted up to protect the iguana from harm, but one of the robots pushed her away roughly. She tumbled backward into the dirt, dazed but still furious.

"Leave her alone!" Morris shouted to his captors. "She doesn't know anything about the Emeralds - as a matter of fact, neither do I! Er, not anything contemporary, anyway. I saw them before, long ago, but-"

"Morris, shut up..." Arrowhead whispered to no one in particular but with heavy anxiety.

The robots were not amused with this specimen seemingly taunting them by withholding vital details about the Emeralds' whereabouts. They squeezed more tightly, likely cutting off the blood flow to his arms. The one that, to Paint, Star, and Arrowhead's family, was on the right side beeped a message in the E-1030 language at Morris. It was a sinister, threatening one that none of them could understand precisely, but Paint understood that they had had enough of his games.

"What do you want?" he pleaded. "They're well-known artifacts, I mean..." Tiny beads of sweat were beginning to cling to his face.

Finally, the robot on the right held both of Morris' upper arms while the other stood a few meters away and readied its gun at Morris' legs. Because they had not taken kindly to his apparent silliness, they would give him a grievous injury to force him to take them seriously and tell them everything they wanted. Paint could not believe it - maybe they would kill him.

The enraged Star bolted up and yelled at its two former companions in the E-1030 language. Without warning, the robot on the left shifted its aim to Star and fired its gun. Paint was horrified, all of her breath siphoned from her chest. The air was static and apathetic.

Star shrieked in agony... until it realized it had not been harmed. Through all of their cavalier warning shots, the robots had run out of ammunition.

However, Star, the village savior, had not. As soon as it realized this, it slowly raised its own gun up to its jilted executioner, then waved it in the direction of Morris' guardian, with a clear message that they had both better leave for good. For good measure, it picked a direction in which no one was standing and fired a round to demonstrate.

Slowly, they plodded away with proverbial tails between their legs, the one on the right absentmindedly letting go of Morris, who rubbed his upper arms tenderly in relief.

Star continued to proclaim its consternation to its former teammates as they trailed off and, when they had gotten out of sight, chirped cutely at Paint as if to ask if it had done a good job. Paint and Arrowhead ran up right away to hug it, and the crowd that had gathered exploded in cheers. Villagers of all ages bubbled up to thank Star for rescuing Morris and, more indirectly, the rest of the town.

When Paint craned her neck around to survey, something unbelievable caught her eye: Arrowhead's mother was beaming alternately at her and Star in wholehearted approval.

"Mom, I really hope this has changed your mind about them," Arrowhead suggested to her.

She did not deny this.

Naturally, Paint and Star were both invited back over for breakfast that morning, as was Morris, who managed to restrain himself from taking more than his share of toast and any less than his share of fruit.

In the heat of the excitement afterwards, Arrowhead made the bold move of asking outright, "Mom, does this change your mind about it being okay for me to... you know, go with Paint? And Star, too?"

"Yes, it does," she assured. "My doubts have been erased that those two will be sufficient travel companions able to protect you. Being your mother, of course, I still want to hear from you whenever you first find a telephone - I will, of course, get our old one up and running in preparation - but until then, I want you to enjoy yourself. Most of us never find cause like this for such an exciting journey."

His father whispered playfully, "Take pictures of any of the fungi we haven't found, documented, and scrapbooked yet. It wouldn't be cheating if _you_ at least were there, right?"

Morris demanded in a similar tone, "Also, if and when you get to Namosstok, _please_ don't join the Socialist Party - for me. They aren't what they seem..."

Ignoring both men, Arrowhead's mother gladly allowed Star the dignity to be spoken to directly and openly: "Star, be good to my son - for yourself, as well as for me and Paint. If you can get past how passive he is - not that that's always an easy endeavor - he's a good son and a better friend, as Paint I'm confident can confirm.

"Now, Arrowhead, I'm not letting you leave today - at the very least, I need one more day with my son - but I _can_ help you pack everything you'll need. Enjoyment is most accessible through thorough preparation. You will, of course, need your maps, and..." She trailed off and began to rummage through the house's drawers for items he would need, wincing occasionally at the disorganization.

"Hey, Arrow," Paint suggested enthusiastically, "what if I gave you a tattoo of myself and Star - y'know, to proclaim our undying love and loyalty to one another? The Paint Parlor is open for business!"

"Don't push your luck, sweetheart," his mother chuckled.


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's note: I meant to post this last night, but someone turned off the Wi-Fi in my house out of spite before I was done. Sorry about that.**

"Hey, Morris," Arrowhead put forth, "how will we know when we've found Tails and his friends? I mean, we don't even know what they look like, or anything about _where_ on Freedom we might meet them."

"Hmm, you're right... Well, if memory serves, the papers labeled Sonic as being a friendly boy from Green Hill Zone, or somewhere nearby."

"'Green Hill Zone'... Here, let's check the map..." Paint pulled out the relevant cartography and, before long, located this Green Hill on Freedom. "Oh! That's not _that_ far from 'Ice Paradise' or from the coastline! We can do that!" It was an inviting location, not least of all in the transparent minimalism of its nomenclature.

"It's hundreds of miles, Paint..." Arrowhead muttered.

Morris remembered the rest of the request given him. "It's not so much the distance - you'll have traveled much farther than that already - the topography will be the laborious part. Speaking of 'miles', though... Paint, er, Tails, as you know, is a yellow-orange fox with two tails. He's pretty nondescript otherwise, except for his giant blue eyes - just like yours! - and, if he didn't pick up a mohawk or whatever during his teenage years, his dorky tuft of fur right on his forehead, like three wilting grass blades, heh. Also had a pipsqueak soprano voice when I heard him being interviewed, though again, this could've changed... Otherwise, I dunno, you see a fox flying like a helicopter, you know that's who hoo-ha'd your mom."

"Hmm, what about Tails' friends?" Arrowhead suggested.

"Oh! That computes. Sonic the Hedgehog... is fast. Really, really fast. I mean, hedgehogs normally are, but... I mean, his mother must've been popping jalapenos every minute while she was expecting. If you somehow don't recognize him by that, he's a royal-blue guy with obnoxious, long, spiky hair.

"Amy Rose is another hedgehog, but her fur's pink, and the hair on her head... I don't think had the length of Sonic's. Always made her presence known: she used to go nuts for Sonic, always squeezing him and introducing him as her 'boyfriend', so wherever he is, she's likely to be close by. And she had some kind of... club, maybe? N-no, it was a hammer - a real garish, unsightly one, too. And I guess girls usually wear dresses in their part of the world, and hers was similarly ugly."

"Uh... Knuckles the Echidna was there, too. Don't remember as much about him, but he had red fur, and long hair like Sonic's. On the quiet side, I guess. As well as... S-Sugar- no, _Cream_ the Rabbit. And her Chao, named... named... ah, I don't remember. And... urgh, I know there were others, one of them a crocodile, one of them a weird, flirtatious bat - I didn't get a good feeling from her - and... Oh, and there was a human boy, Chris something-or-other."

Everyone stared at Morris blankly.

"Yeah, I know; I'm sorry. Wish I'd kept a paper from back then. I remember detailed articles being written to profile all of the heroes; I just didn't get around to reading them much, and what I did... I mean, it's been eleven years, at least."

Paint had expected a little more detail than this, but it had been a long time for Morris, and he had tried as hard as he could to help her. "It's okay," she reassured, "obviously I'll recognize Tails, and-"

"Wait, what am I talking about? _Tails_ - of course! I bet if any of them saw you... I mean, your face is the spitting image of his, and paired with the foliage-like parts of your arms and legs, I bet any of those kids would put two and two together right away upon you entering their field of vision."

This brightened her up. "Hey, maybe you're right! I am a pretty girl, heheh, and if they all knew Tails and Cosmo, why not? Urgh, I can't wait to meet them!"

At this point, Arrowhead's father looked a little down; he wasn't thrilled with her being _this_ excited to leave Sunny Clearing. "Paint, you know we'll miss you, too. I know this is something you have to do, but..."

"Don't worry; we'll come back eventually!" she confirmed. "I'm not letting that un-ban go to waste; that's for sure. And I swear on Arrow's life - just kidding, my own - that as soon as we find some way to keep in touch with you, you'll get to here aaaaallllll about our adventure - you know, how much danger we've been placed in, how sick we've gotten, and how we wish we'd never left. Count on it!"

"Alright; you do that," he snickered.

Arrowhead's mother was still in the process of packing for her son and his best friend; this caught Morris' eye and jogged his memory to a gift of his own. "Oh, Paint!" he exclaimed while pulling out a wooden-bead necklace with a locket that he had brought. "It's not much, but I want you to have this for your journey."

"Aw, Morris," Arrowhead moaned, "I don't like fiction that much and even _I_ know that's a cliche. What's inside it: a picture of you?"

"Heck no! What better way to secure your disappointment when you come back and find me more ravaged by age than the picture would've compelled you to think? Hmph. No, it's got a key inside - check it out, haha!"

"Better, but still cliched," Arrowhead muttered as Paint obliged and examined the strange metal pick inside.

"It's to my old storage locker at Namosstok City Bank, ya jerks... If you're going to be there for any length of time, it may help you to have one, and... er, it's not empty."

"You mean you left something inside before you abandoned the city?" Paint inquired. This was an interesting development. He couldn't have known that he would meet someone like them, she reasoned, but why else would it be there, whatever it was?

"Yup! Not telling, though. Check it out if you get a chance." She could not tell from his face or mannerisms one way or the other what might lie inside. It would just have to be another mystery to coax them along the arduous path to Tails, to Paint setting the past right.

She did, however, sense a conversational lull. "Uh... is that it?"

"Well... _I _can't think of anything else to tell you now. Uh, either of you?" He leaned half-attentively in the directions of Arrowhead's parents. Both of them shrugged; his father began rifling through a drawer for something unrelated while his mother continued packing.

"Copacetic! Hey, uh, Arrowhead, Star, and I are gonna head outside now for our last full day here - maybe say a few early goodbyes or something. We'll see you all later today, okay?"


	30. Chapter 30

After checking that the trio was out of earshot of its anuran member's parents, Paint pulled the other two aside behind a tree, a thick and protective rowan. She lowered her eyes and voice to speak to her two best friends in a sensitive, honest, and almost remorseful way.

"Listen, guys... Are you sure you want to come with me? I... I don't want to pressure you two into something you don't want to do of your own accord. I don't want to be your master, only your equal and listening friend. Arrow, you can still back out if you want to; I'll understand, and I'm sure your mom and dad will, too. And Star... well, you don't have a mom, and your other parent I don't think you're interested in seeing."

Star oriented its face slightly upward and whirred snootily at the mention.

Arrowhead replied, "Paint, I'm sticking with you; remember? I meant everything I said after your trial. I've never had friends as loyal and close as you two. There's not n_othing_ for me here, of course, but I'll affirmatively enjoy traveling with you. I want to meet Tails, too." He shrunk back a little, looking disappointed that he wasn't able to communicate his insistence on staying with her with more vigor but without coming off too clingy.

Star chirped in pleasure. It wouldn't give her up nearly this easily.

Paint continued her cautioning: "You know this is gonna take months, if not years, right? I mean..."

"Yeah, I know," he asserted, "and I like that. I've never been away from home for more than a few days, and if I don't now, maybe I never will - at least not for some time. And besides, if we're coming back, why does this have to be that big a deal? It's like my dad said - a... massively... extended nature hike! I want it."

Star demonstratively took a few steps in place, mock-marching with power and conviction. It then looked at Paint to make sure she understood that its legs were working fine and it would be able to keep up the pace for as long as it took.

They were both clearly steadfast in being the second and third leaf of her shamrock, so she brightened up and embraced them. "Thanks, guys. I owe you one - er, one each, I guess. Let's do this; let's reach out to everyone we're gonna miss. Heyyyyy... we can start with Jewel and Max! Let's find them!"

"You don't have to," stated a craggy voice from the nearby shadows. Maxwell and Jewel hopped out, having eavesdropped for most, if not all, of the conversation.

"What are you doing here?!" Arrowhead shouted. He didn't like this one bit.

"Our little scavenger friend here has... a request to make of you three weirdos." Maxwell pushed Jewel forward. The little golden-brown hyena trembled, but not for fear of his firefly associate.

"What Max means is, ah, that... um... we..." he stammered.

"C'mon, Jewel; I know I've taught you better than this," Maxwell said impatiently.

Jewel blurted, "We want to come, too!"

Arrowhead tensed up in protest and Star stared quizzically, but Paint interjected, "Why do you want to?"

"We don't want any of you guys to leave us behind," Jewel explained, "and... well, Arrow said it all, haha! Exploration! It's exciting!" His excitement looked massively genuine.

"Are Carol and your dad okay with this...?" she asked him.

"Of course!" he proclaimed. "And my mom's getting everyone in the village together tonight; everyone's powwowing as a sendoff."

"Uh... what about you, Max? I- I mean..." she sputtered.

"Hah! Gimme a break. I could cut my own wings off and wear a kimono all day and they wouldn't notice or care," he said quietly while staring diagonally at the ground.

"You guys had better be serious about this," Arrowhead said sternly, his smooth, vaguely slimy arms akimbo. "I like you, of course, but this is Paint's journey and I hope you can treat her with the dignity she deserves and has so rarely gotten." With this, he nodded in Maxwell's direction.

Maxwell protested, "Would we traipse across the planet if we weren't serious? Of course we're for real, Narrowhead! We'll just have to get ready; that's all."

"Good," Arrowhead curtly answered without betraying any kind of smile. "Now, uh, Paint," he continued, "I want to help with my own packing. I'd appreciate it if you'd come pretty soon, too. My mom likes you - she really does - but she's working awfully hard." He headed back home, and Star trooped alongside him.

"Actually, I need to prepare, too," Jewel admitted before excusing himself in accordance.

Glad that they were now alone, Maxwell glanced back at Arrowhead and muttered to Paint, "He's kinda cute when he's angry, eh?"

She giggled and whispered back, "Stick around and keep being yourself, and you can see more."

Maxwell laughed in response and trailed off to ready himself as well. When he was gone, Paint took a few minutes to notice and enjoy the strong, pulsating estival sun shining on her. It felt wonderful underneath her skin - she figured she was producing tiny amounts of glucose there. These days were sublime, and she knew she would miss them when her crew had gnashed far enough into the wilderness for the climate to be different.

Likewise was she warmed by the sweetness of Maxwell sidestepping his ongoing pushiness and general roughness to journey with them. Jewel, too - willingly accompanying Maxwell for months or years on end. She was becoming as excited, if not moreso, for her companions to meet Tails and his companions as she was for herself to.


	31. Chapter 31

"Paint, you're terrible at shuffling. Let me do it," Maxwell groaned.

She shrugged and handed him the deck. "Go ahead." Arrowhead, sitting clockwise from Paint, and Jewel, counterclockwise from her, quietly sighed with relief.

"Oooookay, let's see who's going first," said Maxwell. Everyone took a face-down card from the top of the deck.

Paint's was a six - a mediocre offering considering that card values went from three to eleven.

"Show yourselves," Maxwell commanded when everyone had picked one. Paint's six was matched with a seven from Arrowhead, another seven from Maxwell, and an eleven from Jewel. The cards were then shuffled back into the belly of the deck.

"Not bad, buddy. Go ahead," said the firefly to his subordinate.

Jewel picked a card, looked it over, and set it in the position nearest himself - the first row. Paint would not be able to trade because there was no way she could place a card closer to herself than his was to him, while Maxwell would be able to trade using a card in any position farther away from himself than the first row. She took this as an instinctive response on Jewel's part to keep it away from her because she was the next in line - she figured it was of a high value and he did not want to lose it.

That was fine. She drew a card - a cool ten - and placed it face-down in the fourth row. Arrowhead would be able to exchange any card that was not placed in his fourth or fifth row for it. Deception was the key to the game of Forward Slash - one had to do whatever it took to make the highest value available from one's own cards and those to the proverbial northeast and southwest of them - and she would make ample use of it.

Arrowhead took a card, grimaced at it, and put it in his third position. He then exchanged it with Paint's ten and smiled when he saw his reward. Paint's prize was a paltry three, but she made sure to grin wider for Jewel to see, as though it was a cool winning he would want.

Completely emotionlessly, Maxwell adopted the inaugural member of his troop of plastic rectangles, set it in his first row, and traded it with Arrowhead for Paint's old ten. Arrowhead didn't seem to like what he had gotten; Maxwell continued to keep his thoughts curtained.

Jewel mechanically swiped a second card from the deck and placed it in his fifth row. Paint had thought she would be able to avoid him forever - well, no more! He slyly plucked Paint's only card and gave her his new catch in its place. His face fell, however, when he realized he'd been tricked by her feint and his trophy was a three, not the much higher value he had prophesied. Paint, however, now had an eight.

Paint's turn passed uneventfully with an uncontested seven joining her eight - two new siblings with a bond fragile enough to be torn to disappearing, gleaming strands at the slightest hint of malevolence. It was tragic, in a way, but such was the natural law of the game.

The game pressed on, but it did lose momentum. Perhaps Star's presence could have kept it going; alas, its hands might not have been of much use in holding the tiny cards and, moreso, being keen enough to keep them hidden from view as it looked them over. It would, however, have been masterful at keeping up poker faces. At least it was probably content helping Arrowhead's mother out with packing and other tasks.

In one of the game's lulls, Paint took the opportunity to drum up a conversation. "Hey, you two wouldn't know this" - she told Jewel and Maxwell - "but Morris gave us something yesterday."

"Cool, what?" chirped Jewel.

"It's a key." She pulled it out and held it for everyone to see. "Opens Morris' bank vault in Namosstok, the city that he's originally from and that we'll be visiting on account of it being by the waterfront."

"Man, that's gotta be almost as dusty as his loser house," Maxwell mused. "What's he hoarding in that vault, anyhow?"

"He didn't say," Arrowhead answered. "It's mighty mysterious." It was a pity that he couldn't offer more information to his friends; Paint really was curious. Could it be a useful or interesting token he no longer needed, or - on a sadder note - something he just wanted to leave behind and thought they should have?

"I bet this is a giant ruse and it's his old, sweaty cleats or something," suggested Maxwell with a snaking smirk.

"All this way just for that? I highly doubt it," Arrowhead scoffed. "W-well, not _just_ for that, ahaha... Paint, it's your turn, by the way."

"Buh? Oh, thanks. Hmm..." The dealings looked to be in her favor. From what she knew of her own cards and could remember of where her old ones had traveled, everyone's columns looked like this, with the first row - the closest to that player - at the left:

_Paint: 9 / 5 / 11 / 10 / 8_

_Arrowhead: 5 / ? / ? / ? / 6_

_Maxwell: ? / ? / 8 / ? / ?_

_Jewel: 3 / 7 / ? / ? / ?_

The deck in the center of it all was not empty, because Forward Slash and other traditional Techokkan card games they knew could be played with more than four players, so Paint could not tease out exactly how many of each number were on the playing field. However, by basic statistical intuition, she was more likely to win than anyone else: her column's values totaled 43 points for an average of 8.6 - higher than anyone else's average from their cards whose values she knew.

Besides, she was tiring of the game, so she took the ultimate risk of finality: "I claim victory!" In turn, each player was now to hand her their cards to be looked over, so it would be known whether she was the true winner. This was done one at a time so that, if she was wrong and automatically forfeited the game, they would be able to continue to play with the mystery of not knowing one another's cards.

Arrowhead's remaining cards were... a 6, a 3, and a 11 - an average of 6.2.

Jewel hadn't done quite as well: his column finished off with a 4, another 3, and an 8 - an average of 5.0.

Now it was time for Maxwell's - the final frontier. His column was populated, outside the 8, by a 10... a 7... another 8... and an 11. This made for an average of... 8.8.

"Drat... I guess you win, Max," she exhaled. "8.6 was my average. Good game." - A safe revelation for the other two players, as they still did not know how much they would have to beat that score by, assuming Maxwell's column stayed fairly constant. This was disappointing; she had been so sure of a victory. Ah, well, perhaps that had been unwise.

"What are you gonna do now, Paint?" Jewel wondered aloud, concerned that she would be upset.

"I would stay with you guys, but I think I should help Star and Arrow's ma with the packing..." Was this just an excuse? She didn't know, but if so, it was a deceptively respectable one.

"Later," Maxwell muttered before they quietly returned to the game.

As Paint walked off, she was pleased about at least one thing: that a fleeting suggestion of card-playing from four days ago could be rekindled so easily on a lazy late-afternoon at Arrowhead's behest. Follow-through was good.


	32. Chapter 32

"Star, I don't suppose Eggman ever spoke with you alone much, did he?" asked Arrowhead's mother. The idea was amusing, if in a sad way, that he would order his robots around without getting to know them and teaching them about the ways of the world - or at least the ways of fighting with animals.

Alas, it also seemed to be true. Star emitted a long and sorrowful beep, and Arrowhead's mother, for the first time, showed deep concern for the robot. She leaned in and gave it a jolly hug. "Just like the scoundrel he is. I can't say I'm surprised," she observed.

Star cooed in comfort, and Paint asked the toad, "So, uh... what are we looking for now?"

"Oh, that's right - a jacket. For Arrowhead, at least. I hope you understand that he gets priority here, Paint, not because I don't care about you, but because we're not warm-blooded like you are. I'll look for another of a similar size if we find one for him, though."

"Hmm... and you haven't seen one in any of the drawers or cupboards?" Paint took another owl's-head tour around the hut: Arrowhead's mother had ransacked the contents of at least half of them, and even some of the shelves. Books ranging from a reconstructed grammar of the Proto-Echidna language and ancient Techokkan myths to an illustrated book of baobabs and a novel written by a local author lay disheveled and vulnerable on the floor, while others stayed at home on the shelves. Frying pans, a guitar with two broken strings, two extra strings, a manual on guitar tuning, and even a rickety ladder had been upset in the struggle for the toad tween's future warmth.

"I haven't yet. The squalor here rankles me to no end, but I suppose I must understand that my husband needs to have his endless rock samples, excavation tools, and exotic pinecones they've both likely forgotten all about already."

"Uh... when do you think he'd have last needed it?" Paint suggested.

"I... guess that'd have been a few months ago, at the end of winter. Let's see... I recall going out with him for firewood - Star! Cut that out, please!" - Star, who was playing with an eggbeater and a valuable but empty vase, whirred guiltily - "Sorry, Paint. Anyway, we went out while his father stayed home and put on a pot for tea. Irony was with us, though; the next day was much warmer and the weather never recanted, though I guess if we could find the bloody thing and he wasn't leaving, he'd be pulling it in a few more months for the turning of autumn."

"Well, I'm sure we'll find it and it'll go to good use. D'you remember what you and he did when you got back here after collecting the wood?"

"Oh, dear, ummmm... Oh! The tea was ready, and he and his father wanted some sugar. For some reason we kept that, along with some lesser-used spices, in a tin up in the attic - might've had to do with the rest of the house being free of space. I wasn't focused on Arrowhead's coat, but I wouldn't at all put it past him to have left it up there."

"Let's get it, then!" Paint sang. She arched her legs over the various floor-borne obstacles and pulled the ladder over to Arrowhead's mother. Star took the thing in its arms and leaned it against its body, as this would allow her to reach the attic from an optimal point.

"Thank you, Star," Arrowhead's mother said softly. She placed one foot above the other until she had reached the ceiling. Squares of blackness peeked out from between the spaced wooden slats that made up the ceiling, but squares of pink sky peeked out from inside those figures, presumably from the hut's skylights.

The woman pushed up the trapdoor to allow her to access the attic, but without warning her foothold on the ladder snapped. All three inside shrieked as she fell down and... Star caught her. She wasn't even injured by the collision with the robot's metal-plated arms, as it had moved them slightly downward to cushion her fall by slowing her otherwise-instantaneous deceleration to zero.

She gasped in shock at the close serious injury and, when she had gathered herself, wheezed, "Star... thank you so much."

Everyone needed a minute to calm down, and the woman regained control, commanding, "Okay, we still need a way up there. Arrowhead surviving the winters is more important than my acquiescent comfort."

"We won't have to pit those two against each other," Paint cheerfully stated. "Star, how about giving your buddy Paint a boost?" The robot instantly understood and lifted her up to the ceiling, where she removed the trapdoor with ease and scrambled up top.

It was a surprisingly spacious compartment. There were lots of dusty boxes stacked around - more books, as well as old documents, mostly. Paint also noticed some old photos of much younger versions of Arrowhead's mother and father, and of other toads and family friends she did not recognize. There was even one of Amin, posing with a bodacious array of carrots, squash, and other vegetables for the village. Paint smiled to see that one, but more so when she found a tiny tricycle.

"Do you see it up there?" Arrowhead's mother called.

Paint's brain reverted to the task at hand. "Not yet!" she shouted back - a bit loudly since they could see each other through the regular square holes in the floor.

Perhaps she could, though. An old chest Paint was astonished to see was supported by the building's frame contained some old hats, boots, and two matching and fancy kimonos too large for Arrowhead. And right next to it, crumpled on the floor - but on top of a thick thesaurus, which explained it not being seen through the holes - was a cute brown jacket of just the right size! Perhaps it had been a smidgen large on him then, but it would certainly not be too small now.

Well, he had one, and that was... no, there was another one just for her! "I found it - I found _two_!" Paint cried downstairs.

"Wonderful!" rang the voice. "Let's see them."

"Oh, Sta-ar!" Paint sang joyfully. The robot, who had been playing with some pillows and tossing them around, much to Arrowhead's mother's chagrin, arrived obediently to receive Paint. She lowered one leg, then the other, and Star helped her down. With both coats in hand, Paint presented them to the other animal in the house.

"These will look great on you - and so sturdy, too! I'll pack them right up. Thanks, both of you." And she did: one jacket was stuffed into each prepared satchel.

Paint's wandering eyes took her to the window, where she saw that a couple of villagers had left their homes. That was it! "Hey, the sendoff's gonna start soon!" she shouted excitedly. "I'm gonna go find Arrow, Jewel, and Max! They've gotta be done with their game by now..." She was about to run out the door, but doubled back and tightly hugged Arrowhead's mother first. Seizing the opportunity to get a few last words in, she told Paint, "See if you can locate my husband as well. I swear..."

"I will! C'mon, Star! We can't say farewell to the old haunt before we mouse up the rest of the crew!" she yelled back. The robot, which - even standing up - was humorously large inside the building, clumsily tramped through and followed Paint. Arrowhead's mother raised her palm to her face at the house regaining some of its messiness, but chuckled at the two excitable friends anyway.


	33. Chapter 33

Paint and Star returned to the game site to find Arrowhead, Jewel, and Maxwell still sitting idly with sodas. The first of these humble card-players lowered his head in apprehension to see her coming.

She picked up right away. "Arrow, what's wrong?"

"Paint, don't get mad, but... I told them your secret... th- the 'Metarex' one," he creaked, nearing a full-on sob.

She visually tensed up. "My... You _WHAT?!_" she seethed hatefully. Star looked at her with betrayal; perhaps it didn't understand the idea of her getting angry.

"I didn't mean to, Paint! I'm sorry! We were just talking about your dad, and I... I... uh... Paint?" Something was up.

"Hah! Just kidding, Arrow; I don't care." A good-natured grin reinforced this to the still-timid Arrowhead, and she explained: "They were bound to find out someday; in fact, I'm surprised no one told them before. Well" - and she threw her hands up submissively - "it's true! I'm half-Metarex. But I'm a good one - 'least I think so - just like Star's a good Eggman robot!" She patted her robot companion with familiar affection, and it reciprocated cutely.

"I think it's cool," Maxwell admitted, impressed. "Destruction has a home in the Paint bloodline! But yeah, I know you're no _real_ Metarex, and nothing either of you geezers could ribbit or bark at me could convince me otherwise. In short, Paint, I continue to be powerfully unafraid of anything about you but your rank fox breath."

"Yeah," Jewel chimed in, "my mom's told me that thousands of years ago, a race of hyenas brutally took over all of the surrounding peoples! And you know me: I'm just Jewel! I _couldn't_ hurt a fly! Least of all this one." He leaned timidly yet with true friendship on Maxwell's shoulder.

"You got that right," Maxwell chuckled.

"So, Arrow, this fearsome Metarex sleiveen wants you to come with her to make peace with the locals before you all depart together! Care to join her for this dance?"

He hopped up excitedly. "Sure! I would love to. Oh, but... have you seen my dad? I haven't, although nearly everyone else in town has walked by here at some point. This just isn't like him..."

"Oh, I was supposed to ask about that!" she exclaimed. "No, I haven't, and neither has your mom. It's really odd; I'd have picked him to be one of the first ones here..."

"Think he tramped off to find a lilypad or something? Hey, ya never know," Maxwell suggested.

"Max, I don't think that's nece-" Jewel started.

Paint suavely interrupted him: "Wait, I think he's onto something. Perhaps not a literal lilypad - I think he'd much prefer a comfy beanbag chair, of which he has one - but _something_. He could be on the prowl for something."

"Hmm. Maybe love is involved somehow. My mom always says: only love will make him get off his butt and be active. That's why he goes places with me... Anyway, Paint, got any predictions?"

"Why're you asking her?" Maxwell challenged. "She's from Mobius just like you, not some magical planet where the people understand all about 'love' and 'predicting' things."

"Well," Paint reasoned out loud, "since he doesn't appear to be anywhere in the village, it behooves us to check the forest. Let's do it!" She scampered into action for most of a second before groaning at the remembrance of just how much forest there was around Sunny Clearing. "Unnnnnnnnnnh... That's no easy task. How are we gonna scour the whole woods in time?"

Maxwell stood up proudly and brushed the tiny specks of dust from his wings, which were majestic despite carrying no evolutionary relationship to birds'. "_We_ won't. Dorks, follow me while I do all the scouring we need!" Triumphantly, he began to flap and - hesitantly but surely - rocketed up into the air. "C'mon; come with me!" And he buzzed off above the thicket, only as low to the ground as he would need to be for the two parties to hear each other.

Impatiently, Arrowhead yelled up, "See him anywhere?"

"Yep, I've found your dad already. Good thing we picked the right direction right away and he's wandered less than half a mile away. _No_, I don't see him!"

Miffed and quiet, the younger toad continued to do his part scanning the forest floor for signs of adult male toad. Paint, Jewel, and Star searched silently with him.

"Yo, 'Row!" Maxwell called down between eye-sweeps of the endless log-land.

"What?" He found it hard to be optimistic.

"Look, what I said wasn't necessary. But seriously, I have no clue where your dad is and I want him to be around to see us off just as much as you do."

"Th-thanks, Max..."

The four groundlings and one firefly continued to flit around the forest, spiraling out from the village to cover as much area as possible, giving preference to that nearest the village, in as little time as possible.

While passively searching and calling out on occasion, Paint lapsed into daydreaming: she imagined Arrowhead's father ensnared by Dr. Eggman, set to languish indefinitely as bait, collateral, hostage material for rescuers who might never come. It wasn't in any way a pleasant thought, and yet Paint had less energy than ever to keep looking, not helped in the least by there being little light out.

However, urgency reigned thus: the evening was shedding its colorful skin for the mum obsidian of nighttime. Maxwell lit his tail up - a showy lime-green it was - and buzzed aimlessly through the air before descending in disappointment to his friends.

"I haven't seen him a bit," he reported. "I'm sorry, Arrow, but I really think we ought to head back into town without him; the festivities are really starting now. They even have a giant bonfire going in the center of the place. And it's all dependent on us." Maxwell really was sad.

Star joined him with a dry, dejected whir.

"I just don't understand," Arrowhead sighed. "Why wouldn't he be here?"

"First off, _we_ aren't 'here'," Maxwell corrected. "But I concur with Paint in that I wouldn't be surprised if he was looking for something. That said, we can't spend all night looking for _him_."

"You're right; let's go." Arrowhead was not happy; betrayal shone with enveloping darkness on him to make the sky bright.

But this was worth no more of his time, he decided. "Hey, guys," he continued, "are you excited for all of this? Sounds quite overwhelming to me..."

"Absolutely!" Paint squealed. "I can handle the crowds for you, heheh, beating them away from you as necessary. And there are lots of people I want to depart from on happy notes."

"Even my mom?" Jewel muttered meekly.

"Of course! No one can lock this maiden's passionate heart up, no matter the thickness of the bars or of the conception of the justice system! I still like her, anyhow. Star, are you with me on this?"

Star whistled cheerily.

Almost as quickly and with as much emotional jarring as it had started, the friends' journey back to Sunny Clearing ended. Indeed, they were approached by a welcoming crowd. Villagers of all ages, species, and temperaments had shown up to receive them for a final goodbye.

As the biggest reward of all, Arrowhead's mother and father were both right in front, smiling yet agitated. "Come on," the male parent urged his son and his playmates, "we thought you'd never get back! ...Hey, why are you all looking at me like that?"


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's note: Sorry again, everyone. I wanted to finish this last night, but I was just _way_ too tired. Perhaps I could've pumped it out somehow, but not at any meaningful quality. I hope this is better.**

"Well, if you were out 'looking for' something, why can't you share it with us?" Maxwell challenged. "I don't buy that for a second. I think you just sent us out so you could be 'alone' with the missus."

"No, I swear I was! But I really think it'd be best to wait until everything's done..." Arrowhead's father strained against the twin pulls of wanting them to believe he had been telling the truth and wanting this occasion to wait.

"Whatever; I guess we can see then," Maxwell scoffed. "If it turns out you were fibbing... well, I guess it's a good thing for last impressions to be correct ones."

The toad grimaced, but his son reached up, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "I believe you, Dad. And I can wait."

"Thanks, son. A-anyway, everyone's waiting for you five little ragamuffins, so come on!" He and his wife were eager to get it all started, and they could do nothing but follow and see.

When the guests of honor had taken their seats, Amethyst stepped up to her podium, which had been dragged out, once more, to mark the beginning of the end of the tumultuous union.

Speaking softly at first, but quickly returning to effective use of her ability to project, she leaped into a stately speech: "People of Sunny Clearing, it is with predictable - yet nonetheless difficult - sorrow that I confirm the upcoming departure of five of the village's valued residents:" - she motioned to the friends' place in the audience - "Paint the Seedrian-Fox, Arrowhead the Toad, Model E-1030 'Star', Jewel the Hyena, and Maxwell the Firefly. All five are still our children - and I include Star in this count as it is estimated to have been manufactured in the past few years and still appears to be in a state of youthful wonder - yet we must already bid them goodbye.

"I remember closely the day Paint entered our lives. I was a nervous, misunderstood teenager myself, ready to embrace any shake-ups to our stationary lifestyle. On a trip into the forest, foraging with a few others, Morris the Iguana, who is with us tonight" - the second shout-out of the night was given him - "had found a helpless infant on a perfect little hill. As was the responsible thing to do, he showed her to the others and brought her back to town. He knew nothing of what she would become, but felt compelled to protect her all the same. I too was taken in by the boundless energy she demonstrated right away. As she grew up into what we see before us today, we were not unanimously thrilled with all of her exploits, myself included... Paint, you still owe me a new violin, and I'm counting on that!" - Paint surrendered some nervous laughter - "but I never truly hated her, even in knowing that her late mother's side of the family tied her to... you know. That said, I think it is regrettable, though in a way understandable, that we did not show her more forgiveness. And so it is that now that we have finally ourselves grown up enough to formally absolve Paint of our shunning of her, she has to leave to find her father! I am sad, but I am happy. It is what she must do.

"As a young girl, I always admired the two lovebirds who would later rear the also-departing Arrowhead. To me, they were endless springs of all the knowledge I could want, and yet they were still a fairly young couple who were madly in love in a way that also appealed to me, though for perhaps the opposite reason. In fact, it was from Ms. the Toad herself that I borrowed the first seemingly impenetrable law textbook that inspired me to learn more. Arrowhead, however, has grown up submerged in their environment of inquisitiveness and devotion to one's studies that is uncommon to find nowadays; I expect that he will turn out far to be beyond what I have as a result. Life and reading in Sunny Clearing, however, can only flesh out one's young intellect so much, so I accept that he too has to leave. I am sad, but I am happy. It is what he must do.

"Star I must admit that I was nothing but cold to when we first 'met'. It is a shame that I was afforded no better opportunity to get to know the robot - not that I would have taken it, knowing what I did then. It was a product of Dr. Eggman and, giving me almost as much prejudice, had been dragged home by Paint. How wrong I was - ah, I'd venture, _we_ were. Since I am speaking here as an animal just like you all, not as a judge, I willfully interject emotion into my hope that Star be well and continue to prove the old us wrong while developing its bonds with its four best friends. And so it must leave. I am sad, but I am happy. It is what it must do.

"Now, while it was Arrowhead's mother at whose hands the seed of judging was first planted on my hill of ambition, Jewel's showed me the ropes as only a true professional could. After only a brief stint as a police officer, the gods blessed me with the chance to be promoted to judge. After stepping down from office, Carol's father appointed me. I don't know whether she herself had had her eye on the position, but she was nothing but supportive. Now, as strong a figure as she was to me, Jewel has voiced no ambitions for a law job. I do not at all resent the boy for that, but I recognize that he will be better off finding his true inner strength with his best friends than he ever could here without them, so I acknowledge that he too must leave. I am sad, but I am happy. It is what he must do.

"Finally, Maxwell... I must admit that I am not well acquainted with his parents. I am sure you all understand that they so rarely participate in village activities; I do not see either of them among you. I am sure they have some good reason. R-regardless, I knew when I first saw little Maxwell learning to get off the ground with his tiny wings and illuminate with his tiny tail that he is an independent and, um, strong-willed boy. I accept that since the other four will need someone to protect and stand up for them, he must also leave. I am sad, but I am happy. It is what he must do.

"I know this is an emotional time for all of us, too, so what must we do? Well, I encourage you all to say the most thorough goodbyes you can. I'm sure these wonderful children will appreciate the attention. Thank you and... oh, uh, let the festivities begin." Applause followed for her and the absconding children. Quietly and ducking her head, she pitter-pattered away from her podium and into the mass of the chaotic. bubbling crowd. People were buzzing about every which way.

Many of them seemed interested in speaking with the children as soon as they could, but Paint, surveying her friends for approval, realized that Maxwell was not there, but by himself behind someone's hut. "Excuse me, guys; I'll be right back," she muttered, hinting a desire for her other friends to hold the crowd off while she found out what was the matter.

Doing her part, she walked quietly over. "Max, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

Toward her discomfort, tears spotted his face. "It's not fair!" he sobbed. "I told my mom and dad I wanted them to come tonight to say goodbye, and... well, they didn't confirm it outright, but they nodded and said, 'Sure', which is the most they _ever_ do - when they're around anyway! I can't expect anything reasonable from those clowns! Amethyst was wrong; they have no 'good reason'! They _never_ have any!" He really was serious, vulnerable to a heart-wrenching degree.

"It's okay, Max; I'm sure they're just-"

"No, they're just on their pills again! They can't tell their own rear ends from the moon! I tried to hide those cursed things for tonight, but no dice! Just like always, they found a way to skip out on me!" That was all he was able to manage; he sunk his entire face into his segmented arms and continued to drain his small lake with his two pitiful waterfalls.

Paint knelt down and hugged him and, uncharacteristically, he made no move to resist but kept on sniveling. Forced to watch her tough, assertive friend reduced to something like this, she fizzled into the boiling, silent anger that was all too familiar in recent days. She grabbed his hand and, after a bit of resistance, got him to stand up.

"Wh-what do you want?" he stammered, not yet ready to set his misery aside.

"I'm glad we're getting you away from them," she growled hatefully, "but first, they're darn well going to know you're leaving them. And if they don't want to exert the basic decency to show up and say goodbye to their son, well then we'll just have to do it ourselves. Come on, Max." She pulled the aggrieved insect behind her and stomped off toward his house. The other villagers would just have to wait.


	35. Chapter 35

The windows were all shut, but the door was unlocked, so Paint thrust it open. Arrowhead's mother would have burst a blood vessel at the languor of the place; even Morris would likely have been uncomfortable. There were no storage units to speak of, and the few rickety shelves that remained were mostly unused. Old, torn magazines featuring punk rock bands, avant-garde artists, and actors from across Mobius speckled the floor, as did empty soda cans, peanut shells, fossilized sticks of gum, and sinister pill bottles in various states of fullness, plus a broken syringe. It was a sad place to be; the understanding jumped inside Paint that this was why Maxwell never wanted to be at home.

It seemed that her search for the two adult fireflies - for whom the first half of this description only held through technicality - had been in vain. At least it seemed that way until her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the interior. They were both unconscious, Maxwell's mother lying on her belly with one leg resting on a stool and his father lying face-down on a ratty couch. Both were breathing but looked to be in no shape for socializing.

"Wake up!" Paint hissed directly at an area that was mentally gerrymandered to include both of them and all of their useless, destructive paraphernalia in between.

"N-no... I'm... I'm not ready to go yet..." Maxwell's mother whispered to an unseen adversary. "J-just give me a few days to mow the lawns and get everything spiffed to perfection... H-haha; joke's on him. I'm not about to die with all this unfinished busi- zzzzzzzzz." She was stirring, in the loosest sense of the word. They both were: a suitable minimum for what needed to be done.

While Maxwell stood in vicarious shame in the doorway, Paint marched up and shook each of them violently. She would not hurt them - ideally - but neither would she let them check out cognitively.

"This is Paint, Paint the Seedrian-Fox! You're not going to die, but you _are_ going to listen, and you're going to do it right now!"

"Pai... Paint...?" groaned Maxwell's father. A faint beacon of recognition shone through his impairment. "Shouldn't you be doing... uh... um... plant stuff?" His wife chuckled before fading out of concentration again.

"This is too important for 'plant stuff'!" she yelled. "Are you aware that your son is leaving the village tomorrow?! For good?!"

"M-my son... He is...?" groaned his mother. "O-oh, that's... that's great! He's finally taking it upon himself to seek his fortune. I'm sure he'll make a great... janitor or something. Tell him to send us some tacos sometime, or whatever he gets enough money to afford... haha... zzzzz..." She playfully flickered her goldenrod tail for a few seconds.

_This_ was what he had been living with? "No, he's leaving because Arrowhead, Jewel, Star, and I are going, too! We're there for him because _you_ never _are_!" She trembled as she condemned, unaccustomed to such vitriol rushing between her own teeth.

"S-Star...? I-is that another one of those boys he peeps at? Such a good boy, that Star... zzzzzz..." She wasn't getting it.

So Paint tried again. "There's a festival tonight where everyone but you is bidding us farewell! If you don't want to come, go ahead and continue to drown in your stupor, but don't expect to _ever_ see your son _again_!" It was beginning to make Paint's head physically sore to have been so enraged for so long.

However, it seemed that she had begun to crack their shells. "Ma-Max?" his mother whimpered. She was trying to angle her head to see him, but could not muster the muscle power or visual-spatial wherewithal. "Max, you... you aren't going to leave us just like that, a-are you? We love you." His father attempted pitifully to wriggle from his nest with comparable helplessness.

Seeing a hopeful morning light flood into their cave, Paint beckoned Maxwell to come quickly with her finger, and they helped each of his parents stand up. The two older elateriforms swayed precipitously in place, but only from the drugs' lingering effects on things like balance rather than actual apathy toward their son.

"Max, honey, why didn't you tell us...?" It was all his mother could do to form a coherent sentence that sounded like a genuine, convincing plea. "We... we want to know these things."

"I did tell you..." - he sniffed - "I tried to, anyway. But you were... you were like this."

"Were we? Oh... oh..." Losing his footing and tumbling onto the floor in a wretched position, his father broke into tears at realizing how much of his son they were missing. He was unable to even look the boy in the eye; he was too ashamed at what he and his wife had crumbled into. Paint instantly lost the ability to stay angered, but she did want to stay put.

"Why do you use these things?" she inquired gently.

"Oh... why _don't_ we?" Maxwell's mother moaned. "Depression... boredom... physical illness... simple habit... It's all nonsense, all of it, just nonsense." She joined her husband in complete emotional disrepair.

"M-Max?" her husband squeaked, showing nothing but vulnerability along with his ongoing dizziness, disorientation, and apparent nausea. Paint felt terrible just watching.

"What is it, Dad?" He had thought he would want nothing more than to finally be addressed by one of his parents for more than a coarse yell. How wrong he had been.

"Go."

"H-huh?"

"Go with Paint, Max. Take your journey and... and don't look back. We aren't _real_ parents. We never have been. And we're not getting any better. She can protect you and be there for you infinitely more than we can, and you can do the same for her. Those other kids, too... You're a good boy, Max; don't waste that with wrecks like us." He looked exhausted to have spat all of that out.

"But Dad, I just..."

Maxwell's mother followed: "Please, Max. I don't know everything about what's best for you, but I know we aren't it."


	36. Chapter 36

**Author's note: Sorry for breaking schedule again, everyone. I've been a little distracted lately with health concerns and my upcoming college semester, and even within this story I've been focused more on events in the far-distant future than on what's going on now. It's a constant struggle; thanks for sticking with me through it.**

"Are you sure, Max?" Paint consoled softly. "We don't have to stay. We can go off by ourselves or just head off to bed or something, if you want."

"No, I'm fine," he said. His eye canals were not yet totally dry, nor had their source been quelled, but he would be okay to socialize. The night sky was empty, but everything below was inviting and lively.

"Alright, cool! Aaaaaanyway" - she slid slickly back into the conversation - "sorry about that, Lowell. So, I think you're unfairly diminishing the importance of lifelike fallibility. If our brains are really all in vats somewhere, how is the simulation that convinces us otherwise so flawless?"

"I counter thus, Paint," the shrew calmly replied, "we are having this conversation, are we not? We are questioning the hypothetical mastermind's setup, so it is not flawless. That such a mastermind may err does not preclude him or her from taking on such a job and successfully creating our consciousness."

"Surely they'd keep the reasoning that it might all not be real away from us, though, right?"

"It is possible to make some mistakes and not others, correct? We mortals make logical and observational blunders - including yourself, I daresay - and it is entirely within reason that a hypothetical brain-manager might create a simulation that escapes our discernment, while also committing errors of his or her own, one such error being to give us any reasoning ability at all." He sniffed vainly at the air.

"But it's - Hey, where did everyone go?" She pouted at having been left behind. "Ah, well, I guess this stuff isn't for everyone. Nice seeing you, Lowell! Whenever we eventually make it back here, you can tell me all about how hopelessly stupid the Macro-Marsupial proponents are. Y'know, we'll be giving you time to let your anger fester, haha."

"Hmph, indeed," he grunted dispassionately as Paint began to depart for her young friends. "I swear, those fanatics and their precious lateral fricatives..."

They hadn't gotten far; they were speaking with Carol and her husband. Paint jumped right in, eager to cement good rapport with the officer and Jewel's lesser-seen parent.

"So, you've finally jumped off your ivory tower, eh?" Maxwell chided.

Paint was too glad he was back to his old self to mind the mild insult. "Yup! The propeller-flying genes were not in the hand I was dealt, so it was a fast trip! No time for a graceful landing!" At least Star looked happy to see her, as usual.

Clearly straining against her rigid exterior to get this out and done with as soon as possible, Carol stated, "Paint, I want to speak with you tonight as a fellow villager and a friend, but I am not going to apologize for doing my job yesterday or two days ago. You were, at the time, an accused criminal."

"Moooommm..." groaned Jewel.

"That's fine!" Paint reassured to her. "I'm not asking you to. Hey, work is work, right?"

"Doesn't she know it..." Jewel's father chuckled.

"That's enough. I suppose so. Listen, all of you... Not all of Dr. Eggman's robots will be like Star, understand?" Carol wanted to be firm about this.

Star protested with a timid but assertive beep. With much fluidity, it raised its arm to point at its own torso, then waved it vaguely across the canopy of the woods to represent the wider world before placing it back on its own heart, but more tenderly and for longer this time.

"I don't understand it, Paint," the officer snapped. "What is it saying?"

"Star thinks all of Eggman's robots are good at heart," she chimed, "no worse of beings than Star. Oh, Star" - she grabbed its shoulder tightly and friskily, as though pinching its cheek - "you are such a sweetheart! I hope you're right."

"I don't know about that..." Arrowhead admitted. "Have you already forgotten your so-called 'friends' from this morning?"

"Yeah, being idealistic is fine, but..." Jewel muttered.

Star had an answer ready: it waved its hands around in rapid, unpredictable, and lawless patterns. Having communicated this, it picked up a common stone from the ground - Arrowhead moved out of the way to excuse the robot to retrieve it - and pointed at the moon.

"You've lost me there, pal..." was all Paint could conclude.

Pressing on, Star pointed at the torches illuminating the nearby snack table and then at Maxwell's unlit tail.

"Ohhhhh, 'light'! It's... uh... shiny stones or minerals! Precious ones!"

Star confirmed excitedly, urging her to continue.

"Diamonds!" Negative. "Jewels! ...No, then you'd just have pointed at our aptly-named buddy here. Gold!" Negative again. "Silver!" Star gave a strong negative; it appeared to associate that word with something else. "Emeralds!" That was the key. "Um... oh! Chaos Emeralds!"

Star cheered and waited for Paint to give her analysis for the rest.

And she did. "They were just doing their job like Eggman told them to, looking for the Chaos Emeralds. Work is work, eh? I suppose I can't blame them for that, although, you know, the grievous violence I disapprove of..."

"Chaos Emeralds, huh? I've... heard of them. What do those doodads do, anyway?" was Carol's husband's logical follow-up question.

Paint realized that she didn't know; none of them did but the robot, who might have seen their use firsthand. Indeed, Star had an answer to this, too. Thinking of a way to model it, however, gave Star what looked like quite a headache. Its friends were patient through what turned out to be a tediously long display of various animal traits such that Arrowhead was able to narrow the animal in question down to a hedgehog.

"'Sonic' the Hedgehog? I remember that name. You'd know him via Dr. Eggman, I suppose," Arrowhead recalled.

Star confirmed this name and, to complete the explanation, mimed an exotic, passionate transformation and a display of exorbitant physical strength.

"Sisu and beautiful gemstones make for ultimate power, huh? How romantic," Paint sang.

Jewel's father interjected, "Definitely makes sense why Dr. Eggman would want those things away from the little bugger. All the same, Star, I wonder why you aren't seeking them as well."

"Wouldn't that go in violation of Dr. Eggman's orders?" his wife challenged to the robot.

Star did not need to speak up; Paint defended it with her tried-and-true relation of how helpless Star had been and how it had abandoned its ways long ago, this being cemented when she had saved its life - not that Star did not deserve this, of course; that is what friends do. Still, the explanation was beginning to wear on her. The adorable tale of Star joining the side of friendship and rebellion against tyrannical terrorists was beginning to sound trite and outlandish. Perhaps, though, it did not need to be anything more. Its veracity for all of them was enough.


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's note: At four days (July 24 - 28), this is now the longest interval between _Don't Keep Your Distance_ chapters so far. I've learned a hard lesson: I don't enjoy writing extended dialogue scenes, nor does at least one vocal follower enjoy reading them. It's especially drudging with depression and real-life arguments such as I've had over the past few days. As a result, this chapter and the next one may seem a bit rushed, but I feel that's better than dragging it on further, in the interest of the story picking back up before I lose motivation to write altogether. Thanks for being understanding.**

"Hey, Star, where do ya think _you're_ going?" cried an authoritative little voice. Star heard its name and turned around in confusion, then shrunk back a little.

It took Paint a couple of seconds to recognize the two children, but only that. She was vaguely glad to see them, but only that.

"Star, you promised you'd come back and play with us yesterday!" the female panda cub, whom the voice had belonged to, protested. Her brother held their old ball expectantly, bouncing it over and over, only a couple of inches up, in his hands. He looked like a hungry child who had been denied dinner and was only now receiving it.

Star hung its head at them, then at Paint as it whistled apologetically with an upward intonation.

"Of course you can play with them!" she assured. "Tonight's about tying up loose ends, and if yours involve ball-playing, I'm not about to cut the tetherball from its leash." After a quick burst of gratitude, the three athletes took off together gleefully.

The night continued in predictable fashion, punctuated by the occasional trip to the snack table amidst the routine socialization. Finally, as their last patron of the night, the all-important judge showed up.

"Hello, you all," Amethyst greeted pleasantly.

"_There_ you are! I was wondering when, at long last, we'd finally get to you. Here, I'll show you 'what I must do'." Paint hugged the official tightly, causing her cheeks to turn... an identical, but more contextually justified shade of red.

"Yes, I like you, too, Paint."

"So what are you gonna do without _her_ around to provide can't-miss courtroom drama?" Maxwell chided.

"Well, that never occupied _too_ much of my time, so I suppose I will be continuing with my other administrative jobs, none of them major either," Amethyst admitted. "As for my remaining time... well, I can't really be sure. Arrowhead, your parents may not show it now, but they will be very empty without you."

He looked at his feet apologetically. "Yeah, I know..."

"But maybe I will try to rekindle my relationship with them."

This brightened him up; he was happy for them. "Hey, yeah! You can learn as much about exotic fungi as we know! ...Well, maybe a basic grounding in this amount of time, but something..."

She smiled and nodded. "Something like that. This place as a whole will be emptier without you fi- Hmm, where's Star gone off to?"

"Star's just enjoying itself and playing with the panda twins..." Jewel muttered wistfully. "Aww, I just wish _I _could just set all of my doubts aside and be happy in the moment like that."

"Oh, I think Star's worried, too; now just isn't the time for it to show it," Paint soothed. "Star's one big tangle of nerves, but momentary fun takes precedence."

"Yeah, don't remind me," Maxwell grumbled. "Despite its rough exterior, courage escapes this little one. Much to learn, much to learn..."

Amethyst quietly asserted, "Star won't abandon you; it will still protect you when you need it. I'm sure of it."

A curious whistle wisped its way into the conversation. Star had heard its name.

"Hi! Are you done with those kids?" Paint asked.

The robot closed its eyes to mimic slumber, then set one hand a few feet above the ground and mimed walking. While helpful in the abstract, it turned out an unnecessary gesture: Paint swiveled her head around to see a larger panda carrying his two sleeping children off, one on each shoulder.

"Star, I don't mean to pick favorites, but I wonder if we will not miss you the most. Of course you have your own calling with your friends, but it has been nice having a kind of protector around. I think the danger is about gone, but you have still provided us a sense of security that will be difficult to replicate with animals alone."

Star cooed softly in sadness, but Paint stepped up to bat: "It's not so bad. Maybe you can adopt the fearlessness that I know this little one has, even if it doesn't always want to show it. Not that you'll need it in a placid locale like this, anyway. And besides - as you said, Star's protecting us! Hehe."

Amethyst yawned and concurred, "Yes, I am glad. But I'm afraid I can't 'protect' you all with my presence any longer. I do not believe I am alone, either..." And she was right; Paint hadn't even noticed, but the only locals who were still around were packing up.

"Alright, good night," Paint responded. "You've gotta be awake for your... uh, ruling, haha." Amethyst had been running on spare energy; she slumped off with very little of it. Paint herself was growing sleepy - the bonfire was long reduced to embers, and only a few torches remained against the enveloping night sky.

Nonetheless, it was too bad that the folk of Sunny Clearing were not ones for partying wildly, least of all when the sky was this far from being either sunny or clear. And so the dispersal of the locals for the last time left Paint unsatisfied. She had focused so hard on fulfilling the concrete task of a mental spreadsheet of farewells that she was not left with much when all boxes were checked.

There was, however, one more lingering thread for the night, and she was not even the animal who vainly swung her needle the hardest to catch it. Arrowhead's father was, with his wife, slowly heading back home and leaving his son and his friends to make it back whenever they chose. When Arrowhead protested, though, his father met him with a knowing, even mischievous smile.

"Alright, Dad, _now_ is it time?"

"...Time for what?" He knew.

"You know..."

"What do I know? I know lots of things. I'm an educated man."

Maxwell interjected, "Whatever you wanted to show us, wart-hog! Or was I right that you don't have anything? I don't want to be right."

"Oh! That. How silly of me; I must have forgotten," he comically equivocated. "Here they are." He opened the sack and pulled the artifacts out.


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's note: The Sunny Clearing talk-a-thon saga is wrapping up very soon! It finally is! Sorry, I meant to post this sometime yesterday, preferably in the afternoon, but I ended up being busy all day yesterday with various meetings and, today, with some errands. But hey, this chapter's educational! Kinda. Please don't hate me.**

"You mean _this_ is what we were waiting for?" Maxwell asked, cringing in incomprehension.

"Well, I-" Arrowhead's father began to defend.

"Sheesh, if you wanted to make us a salad, why not just shear Paint?" His eyes probed the uncomfortable adult toad in mild contempt.

"I think they're pretty," Jewel conceded softly.

Star whirred in interest.

"Yeah, I guess, but mushrooms? I just don't get it. We already _have_ snacks, and even if we didn't, there's plenty out there we can find and digest - well, me anyway. Dunno about you niche-dwellers."

"Hah, these are dried-out - this way they won't decay," Arrowhead's father explained. "I was out gathering them and preparing them earlier on - really, it's remarkable I did that as fast as I did. I want you to take them as, you know, symbols of our affection for you all. Something like that."

"That's what took you so long? Whatever..." Maxwell had not yet surrendered interest.

"Max? Here's yours," Arrowhead's father offered.

"Oh, this should be just joyous." Insect eye-rolling was especially loathsome, Paint thought - had he intended that?

"_Inocybe calamistrata_," the toad elaborated. "See - it's got a green base and a rugged, almost scaly body, just like you! It's a nifty little addition; smell it? It has an odd odor."

"I'll show you 'odd od-' Hey, it _is _kinda neat." He examined his token proudly.

"Alright, and here you go, Paint: _Coprinus silvaticus_. Self-explanatory - it's both hairy and smooth. It's kinda deceptive in that way. Despite its strange, kinda alien appearance, it's a quaint little thing and doesn't have any odor to speak of."_  
_

"Thank you! I love it already! Oh, I'll feed it and take care of it!" She too looked over her gift fondly.

"Wait, mine has an odor but _Paint's_ doesn't?" Maxwell complained. "Man, that's rank. Paint smells like a garbage can, especially compared to me."

"Oh, no she doesn't," Arrowhead's father scoffed in defense. "O-or not at first glance! Maybe that's just another way she's 'deceptive'! Ooooooh!"

He received only blank looks for that, so he went on, a bit embarrassed.

"I suppose I can't forget my own son, haha. Here, Arrow! ...You can identify this one, right?"

"Hmm... _Suillus... glandulosipes_?" he guessed.

"Close! It's _albivelatus_." Down to the genus wasn't bad.

"Oh. B-but that's-"

"That's right! They're densely constructed - like you are with facts, heheh, and while it can be hard to pick them out, what with their wart-like 'scales', they're plenty distinctive once you do."

"Oh! Heheh." Well, _that_ wasn't so bad.

"Do I have one, sir?" Jewel put forth.

"Of course! Here's yours: _Boletus pseudosensibilis_. Despite the generally large, tough nature of its golden-brown stem, it's pleasant, mild in both odor and taste."

"Yup, that's him all right," Maxwell muttered disinterestedly, eyes half-lidded in what came across as stereotypied apathy.

"I hoped so!" the older toad barked. "Oh, but you don't have to call me 'sir', Jewel. I mean..."

"Uh... what _do_ I call you, then...?" went Jewel under his breath.

Arrowhead's father - and so it was - hadn't heard. "Huh. I seem to have one- Oh! Star, this is for you!"

Star excitedly stuck its hand out to receive its gift, then took a closer look. Paint saw its lenses contract to see the mushroom at different magnifications, one after the other. The robot was engrossed.

"_Gyroporus castaneus_. It's got a ruddy hue similar to yours. It has a tough-looking exterior but it's fragile inside - which is not a bad thing! The taste is pleasant, and they're communal and friendly by nature, though they can easily survive alone."

Star whistled distractedly, picking at its present. The others began to watch curiously as the robot enjoyed itself, until it realized it was being watched and sheepishly returned to normal.

"Star, are you done?" Paint asked. "It's okay if you're not; I just want to know if I can put these away."

Star whimpered at the thought of losing its new mushroom avatar this soon.

"It's okay! It'll just be in my bag, with the rest of them. You can see it whenever you want. In fact, this way it'll be easy to hang onto them 'cause they'll all be in one location."

Well, that was better, so Star gladly handed it over. Validation of one's qualities conveyed through another's generosity was sure to feel great, Paint supposed. And then it hit her: Star had never received much of that, certainly not from Dr. Eggman or his subordinates. Star had been able to show them nothing from its own life but painful memories and silly caricatures - things like this were important to it.

By then, the tokens had all been distributed, but something was off. "Max, I think you've been kinda quiet, huh?" asked Jewel to his mum mentor.

"Huh? Oh... yeah, I have." - He yawned and distractedly returned some attention to the conversation at hand - "Listen, Toad-School, I do appreciate you being this considerate to us, what with these little... baubles. But I think I'm ready to be done here. The night calls; my tail ain't gonna stay up forever."

"That's fine; you've all held out longer than most. S-sorry keeping you all like this."

"Oh, no, thank you! But I think I also... uh..." Jewel's chime-in yawn, which followed, sealed the deal.

The setup for their last night in town was simple and pragmatic: the toad family's giant blanket covered the four young animals while Star lay next to them. All was serene and silent, save for chests waxing and waning. Arrowhead's parents were in their familiar chairs. Everything was where it belonged on that thickly cloudy estival night, except possibly Maxwell, who seemed a little restless in his rest.

Paint was not sure whether he was yet asleep, but Maxwell rolled over a bit to her, after which his breathing felt somehow more peaceful. She stretched out an invisible smile and put one arm around him before closing her eyes, too.


	39. Chapter 39

Dollops of snow mingled mighty merrily, forming fickle friendships as they darted diagonally downward. Proud pines stood stoically and amicably around, covered by the canvas of powdery precipitation. Three things were positively present: a couple of companions and a heaping helping of a nascent, near-diaphanous, delicate dessert.

The beautiful midday sun served as a gregarious distraction to the frigid weather. Yet, as Paint and Starla knelt before the giant platter and enjoyed their ice cream in each other's toasty comfort, the cold was a nuisance to notice.

"OH! I get it, I get it!" Paint gasped. "If the Euclidean Parallel Postulate is relaxed in the hyperbolic direction, _of course_ there can only be three right angles there - a fourth would invalidate the foundations of hyperbolic geometry! So it can only be a Saccheri quadrilateral!"

"Exactly!" Starla scratched her messy scarlet hair as an unwanted distraction from their conversation. "I never understood the point of that distinction before I realized that."

Paint paused to take another giant bite of their vaguely brownish, mud-colored ice cream. There were small, tough imperfections in it, but she enjoyed it no less for them. She shivered as the freezing wave rooted through her brain, but was in no mood to give up. She reverted her gaze to her buddy's face across the table and said, "Y'know, Starla, I'm glad we've been able to catch up again. I've really been missing you."

"Me, too!" bounced the porcupine, true affection showing its face and waving in her eyes. "I just feel horrible that you haven't been able to find your dad yet."

Paint's ears de-perked as she remembered. "Yeah... Well, he's out there. I can't help feeling that he needs to be rescued from something, perhaps from something incorporeal. Well, Tails, your daughter loves you in advance and she's coming to find you!" She took another bite, a determined one, one that stood for something beyond its small measure of frosty sweetness.

Starla tried another bite, too, but grimaced as she tasted the corrupting wetness of the accumulating snow. "Hey, Paint, uh... this snow is kinda disconcerting - I can't enjoy our ice cream with this; can you?"

"Well, now that you mention it... But I- I mean, we have it. It's a rare treat for us, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't know, Paint. I want to leave; this ice cream is only keeping us locked in place artificially. It's pulling us away from our task, in effect - who knows what's happening to Tails? Dr. Eggman could have him in captivity this very moment; I think it's wise that we leave as soon as possible."

"Aw, can I at least have a few more bites?" Paint pouted.

"Tsk. Sure..." Starla growled, focusing impatiently on an invisible wristwatch. Her tetchy attention took over, and she began to pull Paint away by her right arm. "Alright, that's enough, Paint. Let's go."

"But the ice cream wants me to stay with it! It... it's almost like it doesn't like you..." Paint was surprised to hear these surreal lamentations escape through her own teeth.

"Come now; the snow's making it useless anyway." Starla continued to wrestle Paint's protesting arm out of resistance; she had no choice but to be dragged along pitifully. "Look - there's practically a quinzee forming on that fallen dessert. I want none of it - and you want none of it."

"B-but... but I want it. Why does it have to be this way?" Paint cried. Nothing made any sense. Angry swirls of blue-white and pure-white engulfed the scene, in a smattering at first and then turning into a near-blizzard. The worst part: Paint was still hungry, and her arm was beginning to hurt.

She woke up with a start, having sweated up a derecho. Her arm was still sore, but this sensation began to leave her body as she sat up; she had been sleeping on the arm. It was early in the morning, and she was the only one awake in the house.

That certainly had been a fantastical, upsetting dream. Fortunately, her best friends were all right there, still fast asleep, to protect her from the notion that it was anything more real than that.

She turned both eyes to what she could see of the wider world. The sky was of a deep blue but was being illuminated steadily from the east as the day dawned. The trees, both deciduous and evergreen, were emphatically uncovered, vibrant in the friendly summer morning air.

She thought excitedly of waking Arrowhead up to tell him about her dream and get him ready for the day, but decided against it. Promptly, she decided against that, and she shook him gently.

"Arrow! Arrow! Wake up; it's morning!"

"Mmmmmmgmgmph... what?" He winched one bloodshot eye open and looked through the window, then complained, "But it's not even morning yet. Can I go back to sleep?"

"But I had a cool dream and I want to tell you about it!"

"Paint, please... please whisper..." It was true; she had been speaking loudly, though fortunately no one else had awoken in her wake. He followed his own advice vacuously, as he drifted readily and comfortably back into dreamland.

She was unsatisfied at first, but decided it hadn't been a reasonable demand. She looked sleepily and aimlessly back out through the window, kissed him on the cheek, and fell right back asleep.

This time it was dreamless and inconsequential, and when she was awoken for real, it was the real morning. Arrowhead's parents stood proudly over their son and his adventure-mates, a crusty spatula in the father's hand.

"Rise and shine, Paint! Come on, everyone!" he encouraged. "...I can't believe _I _have to be the one to wake you dead logs up..." Quiet groans erupted from around the room as Paint's three male companions escaped their slumber, optimistic for the new day and adventure but wishing they could just wait a few more minutes before leaping headlong into it.

Dreams are weird.


	40. Chapter 40

"Wow, Morris, you sure have been putting away those latkes," Arrowhead's father marveled.

"Hey, you know me," Morris defended. "I'm gonna need all the energy I can manage for this adventure."

"But you're not coming with us..." Jewel corrected quietly. Star, sitting as politely as it could on the floor, whimpered quietly, only for Paint to pat it on the side and show it the locket - Morris would be with them spiritually. Star felt better after that.

"'Course not! But I _am_ seeing you off. I wouldn't miss that for the world, and I'll need energy to grieve. Awww, I can feel the sobs coming on as we speak. My heart is wracked with, er, the flagellations of my five little proteges heading off into the world to seek their fortunes."

"Pretty sure that's just cholesterol, tubs," said Maxwell. Morris weighed the options at hand and chose a piece of fresh fruit for his next hapless prey.

Arrowhead's mother spoke up. "Oh, Maxwell! I'd almost forgotten. In the ruckus of locating Arrow's jacket, the fact escaped me that he's not the only cold-blooded child among you. And so it happens that I've dug up one for you, too! Here, try it on. I think it's just precious." She grinned with conviction of justice as she thrust a sweater over the firefly's head and pulled it roughly over his shoulders while he twisted violently in rejection. Paint was worried her roughness would injure his wings, until she saw that two holes had been roughly cut out for them. Indeed, the covering was snug, warm, and decorated with tiny bells and a jovial beaver elf as these little critters were portrayed in Techokkan folktales.

Seeing what he was wearing, Maxwell grumbled in unrepentant disgust. Chuckles fizzled up from around the breakfast table, but Paint admitted, "I think it's cute! I'll wear it if you won't, Max."

"No, no, Paint," the mother toad explained. "His body isn't like yours; it does not conduct heat on its own. I'm sure he'll grow to live with it, as Morris has offhanded insults. And I agree - it _is_ cute! But it's for him." She was really enjoying this._  
_

Paint wanted a way out. "Haha! Not necessary. He can get all the warmth he needs from my hugs. Here, I'll give him a taste!" She embraced him genuinely lovingly, but also a little roughly and tightly for hint-hinting purposes.

More fervent and generous about wanting an escape, Morris suggested, "Hey, would it be useful to run through the checklist before they head out on their way?"

"Good idea!" remarked Arrowhead's father. "Kids, do you each have..." - he waited for them to ready their backpacks to check - "a toothbrush and toothpaste?"

They all confirmed, barring Star, who needed - and had - no pack. "Paint, are you taking the hint?" Maxwell ribbed, before amending rather stiffly, "...Because dental health is important for all of us."

"I sure am! I'm sure my fellow adventurers would tire of my natural fox breath after a lunar cycle or two, as much of a cultured, eclectic history of culinary escapades as it represents. Uh... what's next, Pop?"

"Sandals for scorching desert sands. As I recall, the map does demarcate some desertous lands" - he pulled it from under the table - "yeah, here they are. 'Sandopolis' - charming. So, have you got 'em?" he asked before remembering a pertinent biological detail of one of the boys. "Oh, well, Max, you can fly, so..."

"Not forever," Maxwell corrected. "But I do have a pair, so... so thanks, I guess."

"'Charming', indeed," Morris grunted with ambiguous intent to be heard.

"And even if you didn't - or if you lose them - I can carry you!" Paint cheerfully added.

"It's true; she can," said Arrowhead.

Without responding to them beyond an exaggerated eye roll, Maxwell commanded, "How about the next item?"

"Snacks, of course - at least enough for a week or so each; I think you can find your own sustenance at other times. Everyone got them?"

The four young animals said yes, and Morris piped up, "I wasn't gonna say anything!"

"I never said you were," replied Arrowhead's father calmly.

"...Touche."

"Okay, now for some individuals," the anuran parent continued. "Who has the tent?"

"Me!" Jewel cried, even proudly. "But I have to admit, I'm not sure it'll be needed that much..."

The iguana returned to prominence. "Oh, it will be. Techokko's climate is a greenhouse of naivete. Besides, you've gotta think ahead to the winter and such. Hopefully you'll find a civilized place to stay for a while before the elements begin to really, er, act up."

"True..."

Arrowhead's father regained the floor. "And on a more mild note, who's the umbrella person here?"

His son spoke up: "That's me. Fortunately, I believe it will be less necessary as time goes on, because of the timing of rain in the surrounding lands as far as I'm aware of them. It's visible in the plant life, Dad, remember?"

"Of course! I'm just making sure - you know, preparation. I know your packs aren't empty besides this junk; I just want to make sure the basics get covered, ahah." He sighed wistfully, presumably taking in for the last time that they really were about to leave their town behind after it had cared for them so much.

Paint wouldn't let him be too anguished over it. "Don't worry; I've got our individual mushrooms right here, right next to Morris' locket," she soothed, patting a lumpy area in her pack. "They're mementos of your caring, of course; I wouldn't leave them behind. And they're extensions of us! We wouldn't be complete leaving them here."

"Well, then!" he replied with chipper affirmation. "I reckon that about settles it. You five are all good to go. Arrow, Paint, Jewel, Max, and Star..." - the pause was painful - "I guess... I guess this is goodbye."

"That would be the thing to do at a prime hour of the morning such as this," his wife concurred, beginning to weep before wiping her eyes and hiding her face. Star silently walked over and hugged her, murmuring softly as she cried into its metal-plated arm. Like a magnet introduced to the disheveled office of a forgetful watchmaker, the scene attracted everyone else in the house to join in the embrace. Everyone wept at least a little - even Star, in its own known way - but perhaps most helpless and pitiable of all was Jewel: he could not look to Maxwell for guidance, even if rough and crude guidance; the firefly's antennae hung down sadly, like Paint's ears. She squeezed Jewel's hand to remind him she was there for him, but somehow even this did not seem to be enough.

While not departing from the embrace, Morris offered a few words of consolation. "You know, Amethyst was spot-on last night, and she elaborated more than I ever had. You each have something special to bring to the others and reason to be leaving. Tails was a great boy last I saw him, and you'll all enjoy his company. And, er, I was also right when we first spoke about him, Paint: I'd wager that the joy in his face when he sees you for the first time will make it all worth it."

"Th-thank you, Morris," she whispered, her tears reaching a crest of chaotic intensity all the same. They were really going to be gone: no Morris, no Arrowhead's parents, no Amethyst, not for a very long time. She looked silently inside her own shell of theatrical, adventurous confidence and wished she could fill it up.

"'I am sad, but I am happy,'" Morris summarized. "'It is what you must do.'"


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's note: I seem to be having a lot of fun coming up with little details of Mobian society that won't appear until _much_ later down the line; I**** suppose that'll make the chapters in the far future that much more worth it.** Of course I also enjoy the here-and-now, though, once I get rolling and really cranking word volume out. *ceremoniously raises glass* To the adventurers!

Paint found herself searching the recesses of her brain frantically for something to keep them just a little longer. To leave with her best friends and undo cruel happenstance to be reunited with her father was what she deeply and truly wanted, and yet the first step was the hardest.

No one else seemed to be taking it any easier. Paint had somehow expected the group hug to break like a sports huddle, but it had collapsed into unsatisfied jigsaw pieces anticlimactically and without passion. Oh, well.

Maxwell would be the first to shatter the ice that had frozen over the heart of the room. "So, uh... are we..."

"Yes. That's it," Arrowhead's mother forcefully asserted, as if trying to convince herself. "There is little use in you all staying further. My husband and I will need to get to our... chores for the day. We love you all dearly, but it's time to leave."

"Have you guys got a game plan?" her husband asked with considerably more cheer in his voice.

"Well, I..." Paint crossed her legs sheepishly. "Uh... isn't spontaneity an integral part of the spirit of adventure? Aheheh..."

Arrowhead, however, had a suggestion ready: "How about... uh... Angelic Falls? The place Amethyst mentioned."

"That's a bit out of the way..." said Morris. "You kids should more likely be heading northward out of Kattekara and then out of Techokko, since Namosstok is in the next province. But, er, head east first, because just north of here are... you know, volcanoes."

"East it is, then!" Paint cheered. "Star, we're all gonna see where we met you!" Star giggled in excitement.

"Oh! And there's something I was asked to bring this morning and almost forgot, but in my reliable sharpness managed to remember, now that it counts." Morris walked over to the knapsack he had brought to breakfast - it was a little journey of his own - and retrieved four well-loved safari hats.

"As I've said, you'll need these, ah, a little further down the road," he explained. "The sun may nourish you now, Paint, but it can be quite cruel, especially in those desertous lands on other continents, like Sandopolis."

"Good thing I'm not a frog..." Arrowhead muttered.

"And remember that you all have water bottles in there as well."

"Yup," confirmed Jewel, patting the cool lump in his pack dutifully.

"...So this really is it, then?" asked Arrowhead, looking at his feet with a sadness that seemed tired and resigned.

"Yes! Yes! Off you go. Remove your presences from our lives," his mother commanded. "We will cope just fine; we are plenty busy. You children, on the other hand, need to traverse as much ground as you can today." She began to push her son and his friends toward the door; they quickly made the movement their own and escaped the hut for the last time.

Arrowhead sighed, "...Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" Her frazzledness saddened Paint and apparently her son as well, who took no comfort in his mother's few words. She was not used to dealing with situations like this; she only knew how to block feelings out.

"...I love you. I think you want to cry, and that's okay," he tried.

"Nonsense. I'm glad for you and your associates; experiences like this will do you all wonders - and I wish not to prolong them. Goodbye, Arrowhead." She waved him off decisively before stepping inside, leaving the door open as she sat down and distractedly picked up a book. These motions took all of five frantic seconds.

"A-alright... bye, Mom." He nodded to his friends, and they understood in unison. Arrowhead's father and Morris solemnly waved goodbye in her place.

The first few steps were supposed to be jolly, optimistic ones. These were more hollow and automatic, the five comrades propelled by a sense of duty that, in the moment, they all seemed to find it hard to connect to.

At this point, they were almost out of visual reach of Arrowhead's hut as they approached the forest's entrance. Paint took one last look back to close off this chapter of their lives, one last look at what they were leaving behind. Her eyes found one mother toad with no book, sobbing helplessly into her hands as her stag and the familiar iguana patted her on the back and mouthed things forever inaudible. Their words were doing nothing for her.

"Arrow...?" went Paint gently.

"Yeah?" He turned his whole head toward her for what he sensed would be important.

"When the time comes, make that phone call." She did not want to be consciously manipulative, but her eyes pleaded with him that it would be important to reassure his parents of his safety and reconnect to them to alleviate loneliness as soon as possible.

"Oh, you don't have to remind me." He understood it as well as she.

She nodded and they walked on, being enveloped headlong by the forbidding thicket. It would only serve to let everyone down if they took the most comfortable action of chickening out. This would have to work.

And it would have to wait: an incessant buzzing of wings cropped up - no, two. Maxwell looked up in cynical inquisition but was wowed at what he saw. His mother and father dropped down, landing a comfortable distance in front of him and making up the remainder by jumping over for a final hug. They were finally sober, and he loved that. Normally he would be tired of all of this recent hugging by now, but with them, there was nothing more cool than being hugged.

"Mom, Dad, you're..." he croaked.

"We don't want your lingering memory of us to be of us in our wrong minds," his mother asserted. "I'm not about to let you leave without this unfinished business."

Unacquainted with these arthropods, Jewel and Star looked at each other and shrugged.

"You should be doing firefly stuff," his father corroborated. "Light up your tail and be happy! You're built to soar, Max. We can't go with you - shouldn't - but we can ask that you stay optimistic for us."

"Fight the forces that keep you... tied to doors, wood or see-through. Cry for wars that exceed you; bite galore 'til you're free to."

"Honey, isn't that a Nation of Useless Mopes song? 'Cry for Wars'?" he suggested.

"That it is! You remember it!" She kissed him. "I miss those days, when we would sit outside at night, handing the old guitar back and forth and serenading each other - lit only by our own tails, until we extinguished those too and spent the rest of the night wrapped around each other. We've... we've missed out on so much." They were as a newfound pair in love once more. Paint thought it was adorable.

"Hey, quit it with the mushy stuff," their son instructed, giggling with joy in spite of himself.

"I don't think we will," his father cooed to both members of his family, "but Max, we can leave _you_ alone."

"You do that," he grunted dismissively.

"All right, then. We love you, we wish you well, and all that. Oh, and Max?"

"What is it, Dad?"

"Thank you."

His son mulled that over for a bit and simply replied, "You're welcome." That was weird.

The insects in love both rose into the air, angelic without falling. A few tears were visible on them, but manageable ones. "Bye, Max!" they called together as they flitted away, their tails flickering a pretty farewell against the morning canvas of atmosphere.

Once they were gone, presumably off to more... pressing tasks, he warmly stated to his friends, "Okay, _now_ we can skedaddle. Let's kick into gear, soldiers!" He began the massive march toward his former enemy reuniting with her father, and the rest followed his lead. He was purposeful.

A pleasant display of animal beauty, a comforting way to begin a new day and a new adventure, a symbolic display that leaving for a worthwhile cause can be an action of winsome determination - one can call it what one wishes. It had done its job: Maxwell was a happy bug.


	42. Chapter 42 - End of Part One

**Author's note: Wasn't sure I'd be able to get this done today, especially with FF-dot-net going down for a few hours, but here we are. Man, R.I.P. Robin Williams. I knew he'd been depressed in recent years, but not like this. Poor guy.**

With their last remaining social chains to Sunny Clearing being taken off for the time being, Paint the Seedrian-Fox, Arrowhead the Toad, Jewel the Hyena, Maxwell the Firefly, and E-1030 "Star" began to walk for real.

The familiar rocks were all there, with their iconic figures and imperfections. So too were the familiar trees, each of the giant beauties seeming to encourage the gang to find Paint's other active ingredient. Familiarity does not last long when one finally gets around by happenstance to breaking one's habit of sticking close to home, but it is a nice way to wade into the tumult of adventure, after which the adventure has the experiencer's permission to be safely exciting.

Conversation was not yet necessary; all five kids were plenty occupied by taking in the increasingly unfamiliar, always beautiful scenery and reflecting on the fact that, yes, this was real and they were doing it.

After a couple of hours, the welcoming hillside exhibited itself before them. The trees, bushes, and other plants were even more vibrant and liberally speckled with color than before - a friendly reminder that autumn was coming, if not already leaning through the door. Tiny spores and flower petals somersaulted around the animals' and robot's bodies, clamoring for playtime.

Paint saw knowing appreciation in Arrowhead's eyes for the memorable place, and Star too was serene and enjoying the sights. She concurred. However, Maxwell and Jewel were stricken headfirst with the wonder they had never known, as though unscrewing their very first cookie jars with hard-won parental approval.

Without wasting any time, the quintet walked, hopped, and dropped chaotically just as its two founding members had before. A short walk through the flattening, grassy slope took them back to the genesis of Star's addition to the family. Star knew instantly, excitedly whistling and quickly shifting its ocular focus between its friends and the creek, begging them to come and have a look-see.

"That's right!" Paint giggled as the gang's ten feet stepped onto the general area where the interactions had first taken place. "You really love this place, don't you? It's very nearly a shrine for our cabal."

"It's... quaint," Maxwell admitted simply.

"I'm thirsty," Jewel said. The creek was right close by, so the four animals set their backpacks on the bank. They took deep, engrossed drinks from the creek to assuage the fairly strong heat of the day from their systems. Even Paint, with all the green that spotted her, was panting a little from the strong sun - she drank the most out of anyone. "Paint, since we're refreshed now, would you mind refreshing me on what exactly you did to win Star's gratitude here?" Jewel asked quizzically.

She lapsed into the well-worn tale for her friend: "Not at all, dear boy! You see, the cruel old Dr. Eggman puts explosive canisters inside the heads of each robot he produces, or at least each of Star's kind. He does that so they'll adhere to his every wish for sheer fear. This little arrival was desperate, you see, but I called upon my sense of chivalry - a must for all self-respecting, noble women - and pried open the hatch on the rear of the little hopeful's head with an impromptu screw-driver. Of course, first I bid my trusty partner, whom I love dearly, to leave should I be blown into tossed salad, and while he was off in safety, I proceeded to scoop out the fearful one's contemptible tie to its contemptible master" - she spit on the ground with exaggerated snootiness in an unclear display of social class - "and, just to protect the world from one more little source of chaos, I climbed that yonder tree, and... and... Ah-ahaha, when d-did that happen? Ahah..."

The tree was not there.

At least, not recognizably. A few mangled, viciously torn, and burned branches were littered around, as was the absolute foundation of an extremely charred trunk. No grass or flowers grew anywhere near.

"This is... this is not good," Arrowhead spit out, gulping three times during that sentence. "H-he's been here. E-Eggman has. Close, anyway." His stick-like toad legs trembled.

"...Huh," Paint replied neutrally, instantly breaking her register in shock. "Well... I don't know what the radius of his explosive-triggering signal is, but he's been within that at some point in the past few days. It's... it's probably thousands of miles or something. We'll be fine," she assured her teammates with a slight shudder.

"Tsk-tsk," went Maxwell as he made a slight change of subject. "Eggman's gotta be major-weak and useless if he has to stick his robots in some kinda setup like that to get them to obey. Guess they don't teach leadership or effective public speaking wherever his engineering degree comes from." He buzzed over to Star, leaned in, patted it on the shoulder, and affirmed, "What a loser." He turned back to Paint and scoffed, "I bet I could kick his butt with one antenna. Paint, I hope you don't waste your admirable but fruitless cognitive efforts on being scared of him." With no equivocation about its classlessness, he spit on the ground in disgust.

**END OF PART ONE**


	43. Chapter 43

"You want to stay my friend, right?"

"Uh... of course I do. Why else would I have agreed to this?"

"Then surely you can spill the beans for us?" She smiled hopefully at her original best friend.

Arrowhead sighed and gave in. "All right. My greatest fear iiiiiiiisss..." - she leaned in and grinned, ostensibly ready to pounce, until it became apparent that this was making him uncomfortable and lessening his chances of giving a straight, deep-down answer, at which point she backed down - "uh... being buried alive, I guess."

She warmly tousled his barren scalp and responded, "That wasn't so bad, was it? ...Ah, I myself was helpless and nestled in the ground once; I bet I could do it again," before giggling innocently.

"I'd help you out with that," Maxwell murmured in monotone.

She took the opportunity to lock onto her next target. "Alright, now you go, Max!"

He looked up at the sky, averting his gaze from the midday sun only enough to have some peekaboo privacy before finally speaking up once he had made up his mind. "If I 'fear' anything, it's that my folks are going back on abandoning their 'medication'."

This was a serious answer, so she calmly contended, "I don't think they are. They really seemed to adore all the life they'd been missing - and you. Why give it up now?"

"'Cause losers don't change."

Star whistled sadly and softly, and Jewel appeared frightened to see Maxwell in such a state of weakness. Paint could not figure out a way to bounce back with any kind of wit or cheerfulness, so she stayed silent - except to say, "I- I'm sorry I had to bring this up. I'm sure there are other conversations we could be having... if we need to a-at all, that is."

He sighed and muttered, "Forget about it."

She wouldn't be able to, but she would be able to distract herself with the new scenery. Trekking north along the creek had taken the gang into a new, unexplored section of forest, inside which the twisting channel of water had slowly reached its terminus. The thin but firm and proud tree trunks were, in a sense, the first tangible symbols of having crossed the comfort-zone horizon. Yet despite the unfamiliarity and recent topic of conversation, fear was not at hand at the moment.

They came across a couple of fallen trees in short succession. The first had been overgrown with moss and was teeming with tiny yet conspicuous non-animal life, while the second appeared to be a more recent felling. Everyone took tall steps over the logs except Maxwell, who flitted over them with that grace of movement, or something like that, that only young, incorrigible insect boys have.

Jewel winced at the brief pain of whacking his right leg on the second log as he crossed it. However, Paint was the one who shortly began to display an altered gait.

Her legs shook with anxiety. "Uh, guys?" she asked everyone through unconsciously clenched teeth. "Anyone see any bushes around here?"

Arrowhead, not affected in the same way, sighed and unenthusiastically inquired, "No. Why'd you drink so much...?"

"I was thirsty... a lot." Her ears resisted her brain's half-hearted instructions to stay perked up for signs of bushes or similarly thick obstructions and curled down in embarrassment.

Maxwell was not interested in being subject to any more of this, so he pointed nonspecifically to their right and dismissively suggested, "Just go over there or something. We won't look."

"Um... n-never mind. I can wait." She hoped so; plants are normally superb at water retention.

Paint's efforts to distract herself while she waited for some privacy resulted in forced attentiveness to the sensory stimuli around. By now, they had to be at least a couple of miles into the forest expanse north of the creek's end. The trees were enveloping in all directions; no clearings, sunny or otherwise, were in the vicinity.

Her sadness replaced by tense impatience, she tried listening for interesting sounds in the distance, but the only ones in the air were of their feet crackling the grass and of the brisk breezes playing with the swaying branches.

...At least, until a loud thumping sound that dramatically escalated in volume closed in on them from straight ahead, stomping clunkily but powerfully through the trees. Before they could react, the largest Eggman robot Paint had ever seen outside her dreams was upon them. It was a silver-colored thing, shaped somewhat like a human, and completely ready to kill. The four animals knew not why, but they gasped in terror, and even Star shrieked in fear. Star regained its head quickly and warbled something in its own language, but the much larger robot did not notice, did not understand, or simply did not care.

Wasting no time in claiming its first victim, the metallic giant launched a colossally powerful fist straight at Paint. All of the color left her face, and she stood dumbstruck, devoid of the mental wherewithal to escape her own doom - until Maxwell yanked her out of its path by a split second.

"Looks like you won't be needing those bushes anymore," he noted when he saw her body's reaction.

Enraged by its failure, the robot threw its fist straight back down at Paint and Maxwell. The others cried out helplessly for their friends as the fist crashed down, but Paint snapped back into the moment, grabbed his arm, and jumped backwards together. They lost their footing and, while not immediately hurt, toppled over into the dirt.

The robot had its chance to end them, but it instead swerved ninety degrees to the right and, without warning, grabbed Jewel. He screamed in primal fear; the robot began to squeeze him mercilessly. He would not have a quick death.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Paint shouted hoarsely, adrenaline coursing turgidly through her system. She sprinted up, hoping to distract the robot or otherwise force it to set him free. Maxwell, Arrowhead, and Star sensed what she was doing and lunged toward it as well from their respective angles. She couldn't tell whether anyone was speaking, even herself - the verbal domain was an irrelevant luxury then.

"Maaaaaax..." Jewel moaned and sobbed as the giant squeezed him and swung him around mercilessly. Paint increased to full power and readied herself for whatever kind of attack she could improvise against the cruel behemoth. Friends reduced to tears from danger or sorrow reliably brought her nothing but rage at the aggressor, and this aggressor would pay.

As the friends readied their concerted attack, the robot without warning delivered a roundhouse kick to them, flinging them meters away. Paint was not hurt, but she trembled at her inability to say the same of Jewel, who continued to cry out helplessly. "JEEEEEWWWWELLL!" she shrieked in kind. Her eyes filled with that terrible rage that is corrupted by fear when its bearer realizes the cause is hopeless.


	44. Chapter 44

The chrome golem continued to increase the tightness of its grip on Jewel very, very slowly, and he sputtered the names of his friends as they looked on in horror. "P-Paint... A-A-Arrow..." - he gagged - "Max, Star... help me... p-please..." He looked ready to vomit, if only he had the energy and windpipe space.

She too experienced a lapse in breathing, as she choked back tears while staring at her friend, as helpless to stop his murder as he was. "I- I'm so sorry, Jewel... I couldn't save you i-in time... I love you," she tried to yell out, instead emitting only a pitiful, raspy whisper of it.

Able to take no more, Star unleashed what appeared to be a level of volcanic rage scarcely seen before: it screeched hideously while unloading its limited supply of bullets one by one at its cruel cousin. While on paper this would sound righteous and triumphant, Paint felt physically sick watching her sweet and gentle friend be driven to the point of red-hot anger to match its functional frame and physical violence to match the Doctor's expectations of his creations.

Star's first few shots were fairly directionless, aimed all around the larger robot's shell. None of them did much but irritate it, and it reached out to slap Star away until the smaller robot jumped out of its path. The larger robot was uninterested in bothering with Star while there was still hyena to be played with, and so it did not attack Star - or any of the animals - while they were not attacking it.

However, Star would not be satisfied until Jewel was safe and sound. Video games were likely not in its vocabulary, yet it seemed to have intuitively reasoned out the concept of a boss' weak point: it noticed that the arm draining the life from the helpless, golden-brown toy had an elbow, which was less heavily armored than the rest of the giant's body on account of needing to be flexible.

Seizing the chance, Star fired two shots without warning at the larger robot's elbow. It grunted in distress... and dropped Jewel!

"Guys, let's topple it!" Maxwell shouted, commanding the floor instantly. Paint pushed through her shock, setting everything aside but what could be her only chance to keep Jewel safe, and sprinted at the robot's legs along with Arrowhead, Maxwell, and Star. She grabbed one leg, as wide as her arm-span, and shoved with all the momentum she had. Arrowhead joined right next to her, and Maxwell helped them both out with this giant leg by clearing Paint's head and shoving from a greater height. Meanwhile, the capable Star took the other leg.

Not having expected this kind of assault, the robot was unprepared to defend itself as it swayed back and forth. For a short moment, it appeared that it was going to fall on top of the gang and cause them an ironic, quick end - Paint was almost too tired to be filled with fear once more - but one more hearty shove from the three available animals and one courageous robot, punctuated by a few more gunshots for good measure, sent the large one crashing down with a clatter that shattered whatever had been left of the serene forest ambiance altogether.**  
**

They split right to its head to look for any signs of vitality, and they found none. It was not going to get up to accost them further - it was gone.

Star tried softly talking to the fallen giant and, when it realized it would get no response, began to cry: quiet, inscrutable, and functionally useless noises leaked from its mouth and it put its head to the other robot's in solidarity.

Paint was surprised to find herself rather taken by the unusual disturbance of her metallic buddy's heart and, despite the immediate danger it had just placed them in, felt a little bad, too.

She did not speak up, but Arrowhead did, hopping to their side: "It's okay, Star. There wasn't a-anything else we could've done. It was either Jewel or that other robot, and... well, Jewel's safe."

Apparently able to stand up and not possessing any broken bones or other significant injuries, the saved hyena coughed a little and showed a winsome thumbs-up. Maxwell gave Jewel a curt nod.

Star tried to look at Arrowhead with friendliness, but could not bear it. It could not give up its sadness, and Paint gently patted its back, saying nothing; any words from her might have come off as almost insulting. The other two of the gang simply kept their distance, too solemn to intervene until Maxwell again broke the impenetrable, uncomfortable silence with, "That was dangerous. We need to keep a better lookout than that from now on."

They all nodded and got up, though Star first touched heads with the larger robot one last time, like a final kiss on the cheek. For Star's health and happiness, Paint knew it would be best to get out as soon as they could.

As they walked, though, she realized she did have to posit two more questions to Star regarding the fallen automaton, which she spoke gently to best accommodate its feelings: "Star? Has Eggman created any more robots like that one - or bigger?"

It whirred an unexcited yes.

"Hmm... Do you know what that one wanted with us?"

Star thought a bit longer about that one, stared at the ground, and sent out a long beep for negativity.


End file.
